


Once Burned, Twice Shy

by graphic_winged_observer



Series: Once Burned, Twice Shy [1]
Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graphic_winged_observer/pseuds/graphic_winged_observer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(1964-1975) She moved in across the hall one day and he barely noticed her, at first. Slowly but surely, she pressed her way into his life and taught him more about himself than even he knew was there. But what happens to their already stressed relationship when little Blair Roche dies? Will she stay? Will he leave?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Age Tenant

**Author's Note:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end. (Yes, I purposefully gave her JEH’s last name. :))
> 
> ~1964~

~ July 7, 1964 - New York City, New York ~  
  
“Apartment for rent?” The flower child looked at the seven story building as she adjusted the purse that crossed her body. She turned around, giving the neighborhood a good once over while making up her mind. She saw several Knot-Heads and KT-28s, several homeless, and quite a few prostitutes. The area was more than a little sketchy, but she didn’t really mind the danger it portrayed.  
  
The girl walked up the front steps to the door. She made to grab the knob when it turned and a man bumped into her. His cigarette fell to the ground and his beer bottle slipped through his fingers.  
  
“Sorry,” she squeaked, grabbing the chilled bottle before it hit the ground.  
  
“S’ok. Was finished wit the butt anyway.” The man took the beer as it was handed back to him. He looked the girl up and down. She was a bombshell; full lips, long hair, and plenty of curve. There was something off about her green eyes, but he gave it little thought as he smiled at her smile.  
  
“I still feel bad. Do you know where I ask about the apartment?” The girl pointed to the advertisement taped to the brick wall.  
  
“Ms. Shairp; top floor, door at the end of the hall.” The man slid another cigarette in his mouth and pointed to the stairs behind him.  
  
“Thank you.” The hippie waved as she entered the building and started jogging up the stairs. The man lit up and watched her jog away.  
  
“Some fine wiggle on that child,” the tenant whispered to himself as he walked down the stairs to the street.  
  
The young bohemian made her way up six flights with plenty of breath. She had looked along each floor as she passed. Three rooms per floor wasn’t a bad set up. She stopped on the top floor; just beyond the final flight, to readjust her purse once more. She looked down the hall to the door at the end. This floor looked and smelled the most foreboding of them all. She walked past an apartment that smelled sugary sweet mingled with rust.  
  
She continued past the sweet apartment to the one on the end. She knocked on the landlady’s door and heard a ruckus on the other side. Before the door even opened, the flower child smelled smoke, sex, and children. Specifically bubblegum, vomit, and shit.  
  
“Will you shad’p?” screamed an angry, slightly crackled voice on the other side of the door. The girl heard the chain lock slide, the dead bolt recede, and the simple knob lock unlock. “Wut?” the woman asked.  
  
“Ms. Shairp?” the girl questioned, resisting the urge to pinch her nose against the smells wafting from the apartment. The woman said nothing, only puffed at her cigarette, so the girl continued talking; in hopes of some response. “I’m inquiring about the apartment for rent.” The scent coming from the landlady’s place was almost overwhelming enough to make the girl change her mind, but she figured if she didn’t have to see her landlady too often, she could live with it. Ms. Shairp took in the whole look of the beatnik standing before her. She sighed and reached back for the master keys.  
  
“You stay in this apartment and don’t go near the goddamn windows, ya hear me, Michael?” Shairp spat at her child. He nodded slowly while turning his head to the open, screenless window. “Michael!?”  
  
He turned back and said, “Yes, mom,” A well faked, sweet looking smile on his not-so-innocent face. The girl looked the little boy up and down quickly. He was a nasty looking little thing, but couldn’t be much older than thirteen.  
  
“Good boy. Follow me.” Ms. Shairp stepped from her apartment, gently closing the door behind her. They stopped across the hall from the sweet smelling room. The bohemian child glanced back at its door, wondering who lived on the other side.  
  
“This is it,” Shairp said as she unlocked the door. She pushed the door open and allowed the hippie to pass her. The girl entered the apartment and smiled. She scanned the living room; it was spacious despite already having furniture taking up most of its space with windows that lead to the fire escape.  
  
“Did the previous tenants leave these?” she asked, running a hand along the spine of the couch.  
  
“They did. Lef’ in a hurry, didn’ like the neighbors.” Ms. Shairp tossed her head to the room across the hall. “It comes with heat and hot water, jus’ remember that the whole building uses the water tower. Gets refilled ev’ry couple o’ weeks, ‘cept in the wintah. We’re a bit behind, so all we have is gas.” Shairp yawned as she watched the flower child wonder around the apartment.  
  
“I prefer cooking with gas,” the girl said as she entered the little kitchen. A table big enough to seat four sat against the wall, all its chairs still in place. She walked to the fridge; almost dreading to open it, but did anyway and was most relieved to find it empty. “At least they were kind enough to clean it out,” she whispered, closing the door to the chill box. Two gallons of freezer burnt vanilla ice cream still sat in the bottom freezer.  
  
“Bedroom is on the other side o’ the place, door to the bathroom’s in there.” Ms. Shairp pointed to the opposite end of the apartment as the flower child exited the kitchen. She surveyed the beatnik a little closer. Something was...off about the girl. Sure she was beautiful, but something about her was different from other girls; and hippies, her age.  
  
The girl was smiling broadly as she exited the bedroom. “How much?”  
  
“Hun’red bucks a month. Need to pay ‘lectricity and cable yourself.” Ms. Shairp pointed her dying cigarette to the TV. The hippie looked around the living room once more before turning to the landlady.  
  
“I’ll take it,” she said, opening the windows to allow some air to pull out the musty smell of the unused apartment. She turned to see Ms. Shairp staring her down. “I want to be close to the city, always have. This is probably the closest I’m going to get at this great a price.” The girl gestured to the city; she couldn’t see, through the seventh floor windows.  
  
“Jus’ unusual is all,” the landlady whispered to herself. She leaned up against the door jam before asking, “How ol’ are you?”  
  
“Nineteen,” the flower child replied.  
  
“Ain’t that a littl’ young t’ be on your own?”  
  
“Not these days,” the girl smiled. Shairp smirked.  
  
“I want the first hun’red by the end o’ the week. Miss...?” the landlady asked, extending her grimy hand to her new tenant.  
  
“Haley. Samantha Haley.” She placed her hand in her new landlady’s.  
  
“Well, Sammy,” Ms. Shairp started.  
  
“Samantha.” Ms. Shairp stared at the girl still clasping her hand. There was something in her odd eyes that told her she had better not try to call her new tenant anything other than Samantha.  
  
“Sorry, Samantha.” Ms. Shairp released the hippie’s hand and turned as the door across the hall opened. The man living in the opposite apartment stepped out. He cast sharp glances at the two women before walking on. Even though Ms. Shairp knew his views, she thought it would be best to introduce the two neighbors, before the little bohemian tried something stupid.  
  
“Kovacs.” Shairp motioned for Samantha to follow her.  
  
“Ms. Shairp,” Kovacs said as he turned on the spot to face his landlady and the young woman behind her. He looked her up and down. She was ginger like himself and a flower child, but that was all he noticed about her.  
  
“Walter Kovacs, meet your new floor mate, Samantha Haley.” Ms Shairp motioned to both tenants, knowing he wouldn’t make any move. Samantha extended her hand.  
  
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said with a sweet smile. Walter looked at her hand then back to her face.  
  
“Hurm,” was all he said before turning away to walk down the stairs. Samantha found herself staring at him. There was something tragic written in his features. He was compact, had a short tussle of ginger hair, and a face covered in freckles with several scars. She watched him glare at her as he descended the stairs.  
  
“He’s a bit backward. Dudn’t like women very much. Mother’s prob’ly a whore an’ beat on him a lot.... I think. Anyway, enjoy livin’ ‘ere. Here’s your key. You bring an’one over, keep it as quiet as possible. Slot there,” Shairp pointed to a small mail slot next to her door. “Tha’s for the rent. Jus’ drop it in. You need help movin’ in, ask friends, not me. We clear?” Ms. Shairp rested both hands on her hips, staring her new tenant down.  
  
“I understand. I already have a friend willing to help me move in. And I promise to keep it down to a dull roar,” Samantha said without looking to her new landlady. She was still staring at the spot where Walter Kovacs had vanished down the stairs. Shairp shrugged her shoulders and walked back to her own apartment.  
  
Samantha stood in the hall another moment, ignoring the sounds of shouting coming from her landlady’s home. She faintly heard swears, smacks landing on flesh, and a child crying. Samantha face her owners apartment and imagined that was going to be something she heard a lot of in the coming months. She looked back to the stairs before turning to her own residence. She opened the door and turned to stare at the door that lead to the home of Walter Kovacs.  
  
“He’s not backward, he’s fascinating,” she said before walking into her own apartment.


	2. The First Entries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1964~

_Well, that’s it. I’m officially moved in *smiley*. Carter took longer than I thought he would to help me move in, the hobo. I should have known that when he found the place the first time that he was as high as a goddamn kite. Oh well, the point is I’m all moved in now *smiley*.  
  
Believe it or not, it’s a pretty nice place, aside from the landlady. I didn’t have to buy any furniture, which I found to be an amazing plus. The bed is a queen too1 I have all this room to spread my sketchbooks out on. It did get pretty hot in August, but at least it has plenty of windows to let in fresh air...as fresh as it can get in NYC *smiley*. And the closet in the bedroom has a false back! I found it by happenstance, (I tripped over my box of photography supplies and hit it *smiley* oops) it’s an extra little room. Just big enough to be a darkroom *smiley*. All I have to do is clean it out, buy a desk, and put the red and regular lights in it! I am so very happy to have my own darkroom *smiley*!  
  
The man across the hall from me is...weird.... I guess, I don’t really have another word for him. He’s definitely NOT backward, like the landlady said. He just seems to have a different way of viewing the world. He’s no hippie though...he’s...he’s something else. He never says, “Hi,”...to me anyway. I think he sees something he doesn’t like. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve be “watching” him. I just poke my head out almost every time he leaves, is all. I’m curious, like Alice...or a cat.... And yes, I know what curiosity did to it. I’ll try not to let it happen to me *smiley*.  
  
He’s started to get the strangest hours at work. Despite how quiet he generally is, sometimes he wakes me up when he comes home at three in the A.M. if he comes home at three A.M.. Sometimes he doesn’t come home ‘til six or seven. Every now and again he doesn’t leave ‘til four in the afternoon. I guess he really personifies the word unique. He has a great face for sketching though, I just wish I could capture the sadness that his face has written.  
  
Welp, I guess that’s all I have to say for today. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow *smiley*  
  
September the twenty-sixth, nineteen sixty-four. -Samantha *smiley*_  
  
Samantha closed her diary and placed it back on her bedside table, laying the black ink pen atop the white cover. She stretched out long and yawned before getting out of bed. Samantha checked the time on her wind-up clock. Two thirty in the afternoon. She stood from her bed and opened the immediate window. The air was just starting to chill, but summer still had a tight grip. The bohemian walked across her room to her dresser and pulled out a sari. She wrapped it around her waist, deciding to leave her wife beater on.  
  
Samantha turned back to her bed and piled the few sketchbooks she had strewn out on top of each other. She walked into her living room and placed the various books against the windows; fanning them so she could look at multiple sketches at once. As she set the last book against her window, Samantha turned at a noise from across the hall. She lightly jogged to her door and opened it slowly. Walter was halfway down the hall when Samantha poked her head from her apartment. Kovacs stopped and turned to the intrusive girl.  
  
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kovacs,” she said, a slight smile playing on her lips. It took everything Walter had to not turn away from her smiling face.  
  
“Good afternoon, Miss Haley,” he said. He’d been ignoring the girl for the better part of the few months she’d been here, but something about her today made him break a little. For the first time he noticed her eyes. They were a vibrant, jade green...one was. The other wasn’t quite, but he couldn’t; and didn’t want to, place what the difference was just now. He watched her smile come out full. She beamed.  
  
Kovacs turned from the young hippie and continued toward the stairs. He could still feel her bright eyes on him; a feeling Walter didn’t particularly care for, especially from a woman. Kovacs began to descend the stairs, staring the woman down. Her smile didn’t falter; which irritated him to no end, even though he couldn’t place why.  
  
“Have a calm night, Walter,” Samantha called as he vanished beneath the landing. She closed her door and leaned against it, still beaming. “At least he said something this time.” Samantha sighed as she propped herself away from the door to continue with her day.  
  
 _Rorschach’s Journal. September 27, 1964:  
The city is calm and quiet. Quieter than comfortable. Like a storm is somewhere off the horizon.  
No one deserving of retribution is out. Tonight...I’m left with nothing but my own thoughts.  
She said hello to me again.... I responded. I don’t know why. For months I’ve ignored her.  
Something in her voice called. Like a siren to a sailor. Should have left her wanting...should always leave her wanting.  
Despite upbeat façade, her voice carries a twinge of sadness...as if lonely...or scared of something. A woman that looks the way she does, shouldn’t have problems finding someone. She could have the love of any man she wants.  
Something is...different about her. Doesn’t use her body the way most do. A transsexual perhaps? May look into further._  
  
Rorschach placed the rubber band around his journal and slid both the lightly weathered book and pencil in his pocket. He walked along the gravel roof of an apartment building two blocks from his old work. He jumped down to the fire escape and walked down the wrought iron steps to the alleyway.  
  
Rorschach trudged out to the street and looked around him. Almost no one was out on the streets. It was ominous, as if the city itself was the only bully that needed to be taken care or. Rorschach walked along the street, heading home earlier that usual. He placed a hand in each pocket of his trench coat and hunkered his shoulders against the Autumn chill.  
  
It was a mostly quiet walk, only cats chasing mice and rats and the occasional whore asking to suck his cock for a few measly bucks. He ignored almost everything around him, trying to focus on keeping the intrusive girl out of his mind. Four blocks from his apartment house, Rorschach finally came upon someone deserving; an early morning mugging or a late night rape. He smiled beneath his shifting black and white mask. His night wasn’t a complete waste after all.


	3. The First Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1965~

Samantha pulled her jacket closer to her body, trying to stop the bitter chill of late November from reaching her skin. The wind blew from behind, tossing the light snow around the bodies walking the New York City streets. She paused before crossing the street; near fortieth and seventh, Samantha jogged to the news vender.  
  
“Heya, Bernie, a Gazette please?” she asked the balding vendor.  
  
“Sure, Samantha.” Bernie reached back for the specific paper. “How you been holdin’ up lately?” he asked as he handed the girl the paper.  
  
“Trying to keep warm. You and your wife?” Samantha took the paper and placed the change in Bernie’s gloved hand.  
  
“Rosa’s good. Got a cold from all this damn wintah work though.” Bernie sneezed, as if trying to prove his point.  
  
“Oh, Bernie.” Samantha handed the vendor a tissue from her saddle purse. “You need to get your ass outta this weather yourself, you’re gonna catch your death out here.” Samantha smiled as she began to walk away, but another paper caught her eye. “Is...?” The young woman took a step back to the vendor to get a better look. “Is that Rorschach?” she asked, pointing to the extremely blurry photo above the fold of the New Frontiersman.  
  
“So it says. You been collectin’ stuff on ‘im, ain’t ya?” Bernie said, picking up a paper from the middle of the stack. He took a hard look at the paper, then handed it to the girl before him. “Keep yo’r money.”  
  
“What? I can’t do that, you live off the stuff, you need it. For you and Rosa.” Samantha tried forcing the two bits into the vendor’s hand, but he pushed it back at her.  
  
“You been pretty good for bus’ness, sittin’ outside that Indian restaurant. Yo’r customers stop here after they’re done wit you. My bus’ness has been boomin’ as of late. Keep yo’r change as a kinda thank you,” Bernie said with a smile. “Ev’rythin’ about Rorschach, I’ll give you, on the house.”  
  
Samantha smile before wrapping her arms around the newspaper guy. “Thanks, Bernie. Say hi to Rosa for me.” She waved as she jogged down the street. She cast a glance over both papers in her hands, making sure there was something worth getting the Gazette for. Besides the news on the storm they were about to get clobbered with, it held a small article about Rorschach within it’s pages.  
  
Samantha worked her way through the lightly crowded streets of New York. It was the week before Thanksgiving and she hadn’t bought anything for the occasion. She stopped in Lowell’s Market about eight blocks from her apartment to grab something quick for dinner tonight, she’d do the heavy duty shopping later.  
  
After a quick conversation with Lola; her favorite cashier, Samantha continued the last few blocks home. The snow was coming down a little heavier now but she didn’t really mind. Just outside her building, Samantha turned her head to the sky and stuck out her tongue to catch a little mountain of snowflakes on her tongue.  
  
She swallowed the mouthful of ice as she slid her key into the main door to enter her building. She shook off the snow on her shoulders after closing the door. She began reading snip-its of the New Frontiersman as she climbed the stairs to her floor. She’d just gotten to the part about the light wounding of the vigilante when she bumped into somebody; her bag slipping from her hands and something falling from the person she’d bumped.  
  
“Oh, god, sorry,” Samantha tightened her grip and managed to snatch every sugar cube from the air before they reached the ground. Samantha looked up and saw a disgruntled face grimacing at her. “Sorry, Mr. Kovacs. These are yours,” she smiled as she held her hand out for the little man to take his sweets back.  
  
She watched his eyes travel her body, but not the way other men’s eyes wandered her curvy figure. His were harsh, sad, and mingled with mild disgust. His face twitched as he held his hand out to receive his sugar cubes.  
  
“You...you’re...um, you’re bleeding, Mr. Kovacs.... Are you alright?” She placed the cubes in his slightly bloodied hand. This time he watched her eyes take in the unpleasant sight. He still couldn’t place what was wrong with her eyes. One was much less vibrant than the other, but you could barely tell unless you really looked, and he didn’t really want to. She’d been on his mind far too much as of late and; frankly, he despised it.  
  
“I’m fine,” his gruff voice said, making Samantha look him in the eyes, trying to find the lie.  
  
“Are you sure? I have something that could clean it up at least,” she said, hoping he’d take the invitation.  
  
“Said I’m fine,” his voice much more harsh this time as he pushed by her to the stairs.  
  
“Did you get it at work?”  
  
Walter paused at the top step; hating how empathetic, caring, sweet, and motherly her voice was, before nodding curtly and continuing down. Samantha took a couple step toward the railing before speaking again.  
  
“Oughta be more careful. It’s a dangerous city, could eat anyone alive.” Walter gave Samantha a glare that would scare most people; and shook her a bit, but she stood her ground, smiling sweetly at him.  
  
“Hurm.” Walter broke his stare and continued down the stairs; this time hating how caring she looked at him, as if her were a wounded puppy that need tending to.  
  
“Have a calm night, Mr. Kovacs,” Samantha shouted from the railing. She heard Walter stop walking and huff. She grinned, at least she was leaving an impression. She walked back to her door and slipping the key in the lock. She paused to continue reading the snip-its about the wounded vigilante when her breath caught.  
  
Samantha hurried as she tried to get into her apartment. When she did open the door, she left it wide open and key still in the dead bolt. She thumped the paper bag on her couch; which tipped, spilling it’s contents over the cushions and onto the floor. She rushed to the window and peered out their frosty glass to catch Walter walking into downtown.  
  
She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth, “No way.” She rushed back to the couch and found her copy of the New Frontiersman on the floor. She quickly found the paragraph and began to read aloud to herself.  
  
“‘Yea, I cut ‘im. Down the arm.’ The Knot-Top had told police, whom cannot confirm nor deny that the vigilante, Rorschach, was indeed wounded during last nights Knot-Top knock around. Other Knot-Tops, however, can confirm that the masked vigilante did in fact suffer a small wound. Each confirms that one of their comrades cut Rorschach down his right forearm.’” Samantha cast a glance up to her wall of Rorschach news clippings. Then her eyes wandered out her open door to that of Walter Kovacs. She slowly walked forward and stood in her door jam for a few minutes.  
  
“...fuck me.” She lifted the paper to see the photo they had. It was blurry, but she could still define the general look of the face. “Could...?” Samantha paused to pull the key from the lock and close her door. She leaned against the wood and took another hard look at the picture.  
  
“Shit, man. I think my moody neighbor is Rorschach,” she said the various stuffed animals around her apartment.


	4. Not Mine to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1966~

_I still can’t believe I’ve been living in this dive for just over two years now. Here it is, almost Halloween ‘66 and I’m still pretty happy. I expected the city to have outright eaten my soul by now! Ha-ha! *smiley*  
  
Shairp had another kid the other day and Michael’s turned into a disgusting little fifteen year-old, always hounding me! That boy is so fuckin’ horny it’s obnoxious. I really wish he’d leave me alone, I don’t wanna have to break my baseball bat over my landlady’s son’s head.  
  
I sketched this wonderfully happy couple today, which...when I think about it, is so strange considering the war going on in Vietnam. I’ve seen some of the things they send the TV stations here...it’s the only thing that makes me glad they don’t want women in the military. That kinda stuff gives me the chills. Not to mention Dr. Manhattan.... To think he used to be your average, everyday human being is...a little tough to swallow...even with a grain of salt...or a spoonful of sugar. Time to change the subject, I’m creeping myself out just thinking about it.  
  
I think Walter is starting to catch on to me. I don’t think he knows that I know he’s Rorschach. Wow...now that’s a mouthful *smiley*. But I’m sure he’ll catch up to that fact soon. I had to stop following and taking pictures of him because he threw a dagger in my general direction back in August. Repeating myself, I know, but it was scary shit, man! He embedded the dagger into a brick wall! For someone without superpowers, he sure has a lot of strength.  
  
I really hope he and Nite Owl can do something for this rotting city. She’s gotten pretty rundown these past two years. She gotten wicked grimy. Covered in blood, vomit, shit, and a body count that could possibly rival LA. And I just found out yesterday that Carter was killed in the war. God.... To think, he was just my age. Maybe this festering city has eaten a little of my soul after all.... I gotta stop thinking about this sad stuff. I’m only twenty-two, I need to be happier! *smiley*  
  
Walter acknowledges me on a daily basis now...well...daily basis is stretching it a bit. Sometimes he says hello, sometimes a little nod or his “Hurm.” But there are days where he just plain ignores me. They’re getting to be few and far between though. I still have pretty one sided conversations with him though. And I don’t think, well...I doubt he notices, but when he stops at Bernie’s to get his copy of the New Frontiersman, that I smile at him. I know that I irritate him to now end, but...I think he needs someone....  
  
Someone besides goddamn superheroes....  
  
Welp, I think that’s all for tonight. I’ll talk to ya tomorrow *smiley*!  
  
October the twentieth, nineteen sixty-six. Samantha *smiley*_  
  
Samantha re-read her entry before sketching Walter Kovacs and Rorschach’s faces back to back on the opposite page. She grinned at it and stretched before placing her journal and pen on her bedside table. “Ow.” She massaged her lower back as she laid on her bed, letting her bare legs hang over the side. “Oh, long day hunched over a sketch book,” she said, sitting back up to check the time. “God almighty.... One in the morning. I gotta get some sleep, good night world,” Samantha said turning the lamp off and sliding under the covers. She turned once and fell asleep almost instantly, with a little smile on her face.  
  
A sudden crash woke Samantha seconds later. She propped herself up; breathing heavily, and listened for footsteps; which crunched over broken glass, but didn’t come for the girl in the bedroom. They headed away, toward her front door. She heard each lock slide out of the way, allowing the intruder to exit her apartment. Samantha chanced a glance at her clock, it was actually three thirty in the morning.  
  
The girls slid from beneath her covers, snagging the baseball bat from beneath her bed as she stood. She heard the door begin to close and; against her better judgment, called out softly, “Hello?” She heard the door stop, but no longer heard footsteps. Samantha stood, bat aloft until her clock hands pointed out it was quarter of four. Slowly she made her way to her bedroom door, adjusting her underwear and tank as she walked. She opened it a crack, just barely enough to see her front door propped open ajar.  Taking a deep breath and a small step back, she slammed her door open wide and waited for an attacker. None came.  
  
Samantha poked her head out and peered around the room. The window to the fire escape was broken in, a few of her sketch books strewn among the pieces of broken glass. “Hello?” she called again, a little louder this time; still holding the bat high, her grip murderous on the handle. The late October breeze was the only answer she received. She listened over the light, chilling breeze for any sound. She heard sounds of sex coming from her landlady’s apartment, nothing from the hallway, but she could just barely make out the low, steady breathing coming from somewhere IN her apartment. Whomever was in here with her, was listening for Samantha too.  
  
She kept her grip on the bat, but lowered the instrument to walk to her front door. She was never more glad to be wearing such a small amount of clothing before. She heard the rustling of pants and possibly a jacket from her kitchen; though she pretended to not notice it. She pressed out into the hallway, looked both ways and called, “Hello?” one more time. Again no answer came, except the rustling of clothes.  
  
Samantha stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. She was able to get the chain lock in place before a figure launched at her from her kitchen. A cutting knife became embedded in the wood just right of her head. She wasn’t able to think on it much longer because the figure was close enough for her to raise the head of the bat into the intruders gut.  
  
He grunted but was still able to push the bat away and press his body into hers; pinning the doorknob in her stomach and the deadbolt in her ribs, a hand wrapped around the back of her neck; keeping her face pressed against the door. She didn’t scream out but brought the bat back into his gut and pushed him away. When she got out of his reach, she raised the bat high once more and managed to turn the lamp next to the chair on. The face that stared at her was constantly shifting under a filthy fedora.  
  
“Rorschach!?” she exclaimed.  
  
“Quite a collection you have.” His gravel voice told Samantha without a doubt that Walter Kovacs was Rorschach. The vigilante locked the deadbolt and the simple knob lock before pulling the knife free from the door frame.  
  
“I think you’re fascinating.” Samantha tried to keep the quiver from her voice. From the shift in his mask, she hadn’t done a very good job. The girl stepped back as Rorschach stepped closer. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were on her, but when he passed her to her clippings collection she knew he was trying to lure her into some false sense of security.  
  
“Fascinating?” he repeated the word as if it were alien to him. “Think someone who beats up scum for a living is fascinating?” He turned to the hippie. He was surprised, despite what he’d just done to her, she wasn’t shaking...much. Though her knees were trying to tumble her body, she held the bat extremely steady. She moved slowly, but with purpose. Samantha wanted at least the coffee table and couch between her and the vigilante.  
  
Rorschach simply watched her steady movements, waiting for her to slip so he could overtake her. She cast a downward glance, making sure she wouldn’t cut her bare feet on the large shards of glass. Her next step; however, was not so steady. One piece of glass on top of another slipped under Samantha’s cautious movement. In one fell swoop, Rorschach launched himself passed the coffee table and over the couch; toppling it as he landed, and grabbed the hippie by the throat.  
  
Samantha grunted as her body hit the wall separating the kitchen from the living room; causing her to drop the baseball bat, and gasped when the knife was placed under her chin, forcing her to look up.  
  
“Why are you following me!?” the vigilante demanded.  
  
“I’m not...not now anyhow. I swear, I haven’t since August!” she added when the knife was pressed harder into her neck. Samantha hadn’t had the courage to look Rorschach in the eyes just yet. It was best not to, he might kill strength.  
  
“What about the sketches?”  
  
“I have a very good memory.” The girl finally cast her eyes down at the vigilante a moment. They conveyed little fear; which greatly surprised Rorschach, her body trembled terribly beneath him.  
  
“What about him? Follow him?” Rorschach nodded to the fallen sketchbooks.  
  
“No.... Not really. He...he just walks around the area I work. And he lives across the hall.” Samantha took a deep breath; it was going to take a lot of courage to say the next line, and looked him dead in the eyes; at least where they would be. “But you already know that. Don’t you, Mr. Kovacs?” She saw the black and white of his face shift menacingly. Rorschach tossed the knife away, made the hippie kneel on the floor, and dislocated her right shoulder in one swift motion.  
  
Samantha almost screamed out, but she covered her mouth with her free hand. She began breathing heavily, trying to control her pain. She’d learned well from an old boyfriend how. She glance at the vigilante to her right; tears streaming down her face as her breath came in controlled gasps. Kovacs still held her arm; and was contemplating breaking it.  
  
“Who have you told?” he finally asked after several minutes, his voice violently dangerous.  
  
“No one,” Samantha said through her tears and gasps. “God, I swear on my life I haven’t told a goddamn soul,” she added when Rorschach began to twist her arm. “If I had, ARGH, don’t you think the papers would have said something about it!?” she shouted when Rorschach had twisted her arm close to its breaking point. “I can see the headline now, ‘Rorschach, slumming it out like the average American. Just as twisted as everyone else!’” Her hand left her mouth to hold her shoulder. Rorschach still had her arm in his hand; and still thought about giving it the final twist, when he let it go.  
  
First it spun, then fell limp to the floor. Now she cried out. Tears fell in large drops to the wooden floor and Samantha slumped to her left side, cradling her dislocated shoulder as best she could. Rorschach knelt beside the girl and picked up a large, jagged piece of window pane.  
  
“Two years...almost anyway. It’ll be two years Thanksgiving. That’s how long I’ve known,” the girl said without prompting. She watched the shifting of Rorschach’s mask slow as if thinking while he looked at her clipping collection. She didn’t try to get away, she just laid there, in the broken glass. Slowly he turned his head back to her.  
  
“Why...?” he started but the rest of the question escaped him as Samantha spoke.  
  
“Why what? Haven’t I told anyone?” Her tears still flowed, but the fact that she was crying no longer reached her voice. Rorschach nodded. “It’s not my secret to tell.” Slowly Samantha pushed herself to sit up and watched the man before her. He dropped the piece of pane and stood.  
  
Kovacs looked down a t the young woman before her. She looked like a crumpled paper doll. A tear-stained face. Thin lines of blood down her neck. Cradling a useless arm with her bare legs. Rorschach grimaced beneath his shifting mask. A weak, helpless woman. . .but somehow stronger than most. She had tried to fight and didn’t scream out until the end.  
  
Samantha shakily stood and took several steps away from her neighbor. “You don’t hafta stay, you know? I know you don’t like women.” She glanced back at the still motionless vigilante. He mask was almost still, as if it were also wondering what she might do next. Samantha swung her lifeless arm back and her body into the wall; popping her shoulder back into its socket. Rorschach jumped at the action, not expecting it. Samantha’s mouth was wide in a noiseless scream as fresh tears fell down her face. She slid down the wall and sat crumbled on the floor.  
  
“Fuck me,” she exclaimed. “You never get used to doing that kinda shit,” Samantha said with a giggle as she laid back against the wall and slid to the floor. She glared at Rorschach, still standing there. “Get out,” she ordered sharply.  
  
Kovacs shook his head, as if coming out of some sort of trance. He walked to the door, removed his fedora and slipped his mask off before unlocking and opening the door to the hall.  
  
“Walter,” called Samantha half-heartedly. He didn’t turn but acknowledged her voice with a small nod. “I swear on my life, I will never tell a soul who he is.” Kovacs turned in time to watch her point to the still mask in his hand. She was standing; still holding her shoulder, her right hand out to shake on her promise.  
  
“Walter looked from the slightly shaking hand to her face. Samantha was dead serious. “I’ll die before I tell anyone, I promise you that.” Walter let his eyes rest on her lightly mismatched ones a moment before taking her hand and shaking it.


	5. The Usefulness of Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1966~

_Rorschach’s Journal. October 25, 1966:  
Arm in a sling, neck bandaged, voice still sharp, and eyes throwing daggers, she still wishes me to have “good days.” Doubtful she means this.  
Part of me is...almost sorry. Never hurt a woman that way before.... Scared myself. Keep talking myself out of apologizing. Shouldn’t be snooping where she’s not wanted nor appreciated.  
Those deserving have been in abundance as of late. Halloween is around the corner. They make it easy to take my mind off her.  
Been putting less in the hospital since teaming with Daniel. Has no stomach for this, but good with strategy and tech. May prove useful in future._  
  
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” a young voice called just loud enough to be heard over the roaring engines of the mechanical wonder it owned. Rorschach looked back to see Nite Owl walking towards him, Archie floating just above the gravel topped roof.  
  
“Thought I said alone tonight?” Rorschach said when his partner was close enough to hear him over the airship.  
  
“I know you did, but I forgot that I wanted to give you something,” Nite Owl said with a smile. He watched the masked vigilante place a rubber band around his journal and slip it in his pocket. Rorschach stood on the edge of the roof and turned to face Daniel. “I thought it could help you get around a little better, maybe a little easier.” Nite Owl held a fairly compact grappling hook gun. Rorschach took the gun from his partner’s hand and examined it.  
  
“Gas propelled. Pretty easy to figure out actually. Trigger. Retract. Should make it easier climbing buildings and all that stuff. Might have a little kick to it. But, I just wanted to give you that.” Nite Owl smiled again. He waved as he began to walk back to Archie.  
  
“Thank you, Daniel,” Rorschach said as he pocketed the gun. Nite Owl turned; not really believing he’d just been thanked, but his partner wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Dan ran to the ledge and saw Rorschach walking the alley to the street.  
  
“You’re welcome, Rorschach,” sighed Dan as he turned back to Archie.  
  
Rorschach walked along the streets of late night New York, feeling the heft of the gun in his pocket. As he turned down an alley, he knew a few Katies were flanking him. The gun would come in handy more than Daniel had planned.  
  
The KT-28’s were one of the rival gangs in the city and Rorschach never felt bad about beating a few of them into the hospital. He took another corner in the alley and was cut off by several more Katies. He backed against the painted brick wall; bowing his head, and let the others catch up.  
  
“Well, well, well. If it idn’t squidgy face ‘imself. Where’s the Owl tonight, Squidgy?” the lead Katie asked. Rorschach said nothing, but weighed his options. “I asked you a question, faggot!” The guy started to throw a punch, but Rorschach caught it and squeezed; making him scream and drop to his knees. The others moved in and the vigilante expertly blocked each one; throwing his own and knocking each Katie to the ground.  
  
“Ya goddamn FAGGOT! I’m gonna kill ya m’self!” the leader screamed, standing and pulling a butterfly knife from his pocket. Anyone could tell that Rorschach was smiling; his mask mirrored the wide grin his face held, this was his favorite part of the job. He easily disarmed the charging gang member; breaking his arm and nose. The other gangers began to stand as their boss took a tumble.  
  
“You sonova bitch!”  
  
“Ya goddamn freak!”  
  
Most of the Katies took out their own knives and began goading Rorschach. He kicked the closet away and snagged the leaders from the dingy alley floor. He embedded the little dagger in the Katie furthest from him. It slid cleanly between his ribs and the guy fell backwards, dead. The others all watched him fall, a scared look crossing each face as they turned back to the vigilante.  
  
Rorschach’s smile broadened as he palmed the closest guys nose and then proceeded to make one of his legs bend the wrong way. Rorschach worked through the next five gangers in similar fashion; enjoying the crack and break from each bone he was breaking. When all were dispatched, Rorschach looked each victim over. It would take most years to walk again...a few never would. He knelt beside the one with the dagger between his ribs. The little knife made a sickening squelching noise as Rorschach pulled it gently from the gangsters flesh.  
  
Rorschach heard the leader struggling to get up before he spoke, “I ain’t finished wit you yet, faggot!” Rorschach stood with his back to the leader as he slid his right hand into his pocket. “I’m talkin’ t’ ya, freak!” The vigilante turned, holding the grappling gun aloft. “Holy SHIT!” the Katie screamed before the trigger was pulled.  
  
Rorschach’s arm flew high and he stutter stepped back to keep standing. The hook hit the gangster square in the chest, breaking the sternum on impact. This time, he was down for the count. Rorschach waved his arm around a few times, trying to get the sudden pain to cease.  
  
“A little kick, Daniel?” Rorschach turned his hand over, examining the gun. “Going to take some getting used to,” he said, pressing the retract button. With a whizzing sound, the hook zipped back to its rightful place in the gun. Rorschach grinned, Daniel may have just proved himself useful.


	6. It's a Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
>  I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1967~

“Hey, asshole!” Samantha shouted when she returned home from an extremely late Valentine’s dinner at the Gunga Diner. The silhouette turned to the light and Rorschach’s black and white face shifted angrily. “Oh, shit,” she gasped, hanging her head. “It’s almost one in the morning, what are you doing..? What..? What the hell did you do to my wall!?” she questioned after closing her door. Pieces of newspaper all over her floor. Sketches torn so they were just missing their faces.  
  
“Fixed it for you. Not a cluttered mess anymore.” Samantha could just hear the grin in his voice. She walked over and picked up a couple of her ruined sketches.  
  
“Do you know how long it took me to get all these clippings?” When she received no answer, Samantha answered her own question. “Over three years. Three YEARS, Rorschach. Years. It’s not easy to get that many in such a time. ‘Specially all the papers I hafta scour to find each one.” She picked up one of her torn photos. “This sucks. Did you really hafta go and do this, Rorschach? What was that?” she inquired when she heard a flutter of paper. “What are you doing?” Samantha passed her coffee table to get a better look at the man.  
  
“Fixing these too.” Rorschach held up a small sketchbook before tossing it out the open window.  
  
“NO!” she cried; dropping the paper and Diner doggy bag to run to the window. Several of her sketchbooks were laying in the snowy alley below. “No, no, NO!” Samantha walked around the vigilante to the window leading to the fire escape and was able to open it before being shoved against the wall by her shoulders.  
  
“Not this time,” she whispered as she placed her hands around his throat and spread his arms; making him lose his grip. Samantha smacked her skull into his and brought a knee into his stomach; to push him away. Rorschach stumbled backward and fell to the floor as the hippie hurried out onto the fire escape. He shook his head, trying to clear the spots from his eyes. Walter lifted his hands and removed his fedora and mask before standing. He looked out the window to see what she was doing.  
  
Samantha jumped from the last rung of the ladder and began picking up each; probably ruined, sketchbook. “Shit,” she whispered, her face growing ever sadder with each book she lifted. When she had most of them, she trudged up the ladder to place them out of reach of the wet slush. She jumped down again and retrieved the final few.  
  
Walter turned away from the window just in time to hear her shrill voice scream, “Fuck!” He rubbed his head where hers had made contact with his. He could already feel the lump growing.  
  
“Tougher than she looks,” he mused.  
  
“What of it?” Walter pivoted to see Samantha enter the room again, with at least twelve sketchbooks in her arms. “Which part of you thought of this BRILLIANT idea? Huh!? One of you had better answer me, Kovacs, or the lump on your head isn’t going to be the only one you’ll leave this apartment with,” she huffed and hefted the books to the floor.  
  
“Someone might look in. See this paraphernalia.” He motioned to her torn wall of news clippings. “Think you know something. Best not to give others ideas.”  
  
“So...you thought...it would be a good idea to...what? Basically destroy...my way of life?” Walter glanced at the sound of her voice. Her jade eyes were brimming with tears and her shoulders were starting to shake with subs she was trying to suppress. “Most of these are ruined...RUINED thanks to you.” She plopped to the ground with a sob. Walter stare for several moments as she began to peel wet pages from spiral binding and place them around her to dry out.  
  
“...way of life?” he repeated when she moved to her second book.  
  
“Yah. Not every sketch is of you. What? You think I sit on that corner for my health!? It’s my job, savvy? Self employed, ya know? Kinda like you or every other vigilante out there. I draw the basis of the portrait while they sit and ask them to pay me when they come back in a few days to pick up the final rendering. And I’ve been very busy the past couple weeks. Valentine’s day and all.... And now,” Samantha held up a watered-down sketch to prove her point. “Most of these lovebirds sketches are ruined. You are lucky I have such a good memory.”  
  
“You mean you’re lucky.”  
  
“No. I MEAN you.” She glared at her neighbor through the top of her eyes. “Because if these were...are beyond help, I’d be kicking your ass outta here right now. You can screw with me all you want, but fuck with my art and you’re asking for it.”  
  
Harsh silence fell between the neighbors. Samantha kept throwing daggers at him and Walter watched her with a curiosity he’d never had before. She’d gone from strong to weak and now back to strong. At least mostly. Every now and again, tears would start to slide down her cheeks and sobs would shake her figure. Walter cast his eyes down, not wanting to look at her siren body any longer. A snake wormed around his stomach, screaming to hit her at his thought of apologizing. It turned his stomach inside and out with want. He hated this feeling for her.  
  
Suddenly a sketchbook went flying across the room, it’s pages flailing as it smacked into the door. “...shit.” Samantha scooted along the floor into the wall. She hugged her knees and stared out the still open window with tearful eyes. The winter wind blew fresh flakes into the apartment. Walter looked on as her tear-stained face caught the light of the full moon.  
  
“Count yourself lucky.”  
  
Samantha giggled as she sobbed. “I already do, but why?” she questioned, rolling her head to look Kovacs in the eye.  
  
“No woman has ever done what you did tonight. And men have tried.”  
  
“But you beat the living shit outta them, mostly.” Samantha cast her eyes back outside. She heard Walter walking toward her, she didn’t flinch.  
  
“Pray you stay lucky,” his gravel hard voice portrayed every ounce of warning it was supposed to. He watched her eye as it never really made contact with him, but she nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
“Kovacs,” Samantha called when she heard her front door open. “Keep some of that luck for yourself.” She heard him walk into his own apartment and knew it was safe to start balling. After a few heaving buckets of tears, she took a great sniff and felt so much better.  
  
“...ow.” She rubbed her head where she’d made contact with her neighbors stone skull. Samantha stood and stretched before closing the window. The cool air felt good on her heated skin, but she had a lot of work to do. A living to make.


	7. The Game Changer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1967~

Samantha Haley stretched in the setting Fourth of July sun as her ribs sizzled on the grill. She waited for this day every year. Not always to show her pride as an American, but for what the day represented; freedom. Not to mention it was also the one day of every year was able to splurge a little and buy a heaping slab of ribs to enjoy with her never-the-same homemade barbeque sauce.  
  
She opened the grill and smoke billowed from beneath the black hood. She gave the ribs a quick once over, they were pretty much done. The she pulled one of her foil covered baked potatoes from the heat, gave it a slice and a quick squeeze. The innards squished easily. She smiled, taking each potato from the grill and placing them on the table she’d set up on the roof. She quickly pulled the full slab of meat from the griddle before they became over done.  
  
After placing the slab on the table next to the egg salad, Samantha walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. Walter Kovacs’ window was right below her. She knew he was standing there. She’d known him long enough to know that he’d be leaving to become Rorschach for the night soon because July fourth was a popular day to be a criminal in New York. She’d only gotten back on better terms with him in the beginning of May. She’d been extremely happy that most of her customers understood when she had told them she’d had a small accident and would need more time.  
  
Samantha stood near the edge, twirling the pitchfork in her fingers. She gave a light sigh; almost knowing what answer he would give, and laid on her stomach over the lip of the roof and tapped her neighbors window with the rib turner. She waited a few moments before tapping again.  
  
“Come on, Kovacs. We both know you’re right there.” Samantha waited, but his window remained closed. “Please?” she coaxed. Finally the window creaked open.  
  
“What, Miss Haley?” Walter questioned, not bothering to hide his aggravation.  
  
“Would you like to share some of my barbeque ribs, baked potatoes, or egg salad?” she offered. Walter stared out his window as the hippies lengthy red hair peeked passed the window frame. “Come on, it’s not everyday someone offers to share an extremely good and bountiful meal with a neighbor who loves to ruin the faces of criminals and could easily drop my ass seven stories just by giving my hair a good yank,” she explained, lowering more of her ginger locks into view. Walter stared, unanswering, letting her sit in limbo while he mulled the idea over in his head.  
  
“Fine,” Samantha sighed before standing and heading back to her grill. Walter left the window open while he thought. This night was always one of his busiest each year, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a particularly good, home cooked meal. He never did any cooking, always ate out. The smells of sauce and melting butter wafted down from the roof, threatening to drag him up as they did with that cartoon mouse on the TV.  
  
Just as Kovacs began to shut his window, his stomach growled for food. For her food. He closed his eyes and grimaced. He didn’t want to have a meal with her, but his roaring stomach won over his lessening dislike for the hippie. He began to climb onto the window frame when he heard her feet walking back to his window and leave two things on the lip of the roof. When she walked back he climbed out and Walter peaked over the cement lip.  
  
One was a large paper plate covered in food. A heaping pile of egg salad, five ribs slathered in thick barbeque sauce, and a baked potato; sliced but still wrapped in the foil, with nothing on it. The other was a sweating glass of Coke.  
  
Samantha was severing her own plate of food when she heard the plate and bottle move. She smiled to herself, “At least he’ll have a decent meal tonight.”  
  
“May I have butter?” Samantha stood stalk straight when she heard his gravel hardened voice behind her. She turned to see him sitting on the edge of the roof, loading his fork with egg salad.  
  
“Holy, shit,” she whispered, almost dropping her plate to the pebble topped roof. She placed her food on the little table and walked the plate of potato fixings to her vigilante neighbor. “Jus...just let me know if you need anything else,” Samantha said with a smile, hers so infectious that the corners of Walter’s mouth tuned up a little. Samantha’s eyes went wide for a moment and her smile broadened as she tried to stifle a laugh.  
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.” She walked back to her table, giggles wracking her figure. Walter cocked his head curiously, what could she possibly find so funny? “I never expected to see you smile...in any form of the word,” she said, answering his unasked question. “And I thought...hee...I thought if I did see you smile, that it would...hehe...it would look like it hurt.” Samantha let out a full string of laughs before regaining her composure. “This in no way should be funny, I’m so sorry. I had no intention of doing that. I am so sorry, Mr. Kovacs.” She looked back to her neighbor, hoping she hadn’t just pissed off the cities roughest hero.  
  
Walter stared, almost wanting to laugh at her reaction, but he didn’t remember ever laughing before in his life. He opted for a small grin before picking up one of his ribs. He watched as his hippie neighbor realized he wasn’t going to hurt her and that is was safe to begin eating her own meal.  
  
‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ Walter thought to himself. He’d never smiled at anyone, except the criminals who could never see it. What was she doing to him? What spell was she casting over him that no other woman was ever able to accomplish? The snake in his stomach roared at him, telling him he should have just given her hair that good yank and been done with it all. But part of him was finding her just as intriguing and she found him. There was a mystery to her and; for some reason yet unknown to him, Walter wanted to figure it out. She was single but beautiful; a trait he mostly ignored. But there was a lingering sadness about her that drew him in like moths to the light.  
  
“Is it alright, Walter?”  
  
Kovacs shook his head a little, breaking his trance. “Hurm?”  
  
“The food? Is it good?” she asked again with a giggle. Walter looked down at his plate, only one rib, half his potato, and a couple forkfuls of egg salad remained. The bottle of Coke had barely a sip left in it. He didn’t remember eating.  
  
“It was...fine,” he said, realizing how full his belly felt now. His snake of anger seemed quite content. He looked to the sky, it barely had a tint of orange left to it. He needed to leave. He swung his legs over the edge and slid back into his room.  
  
Samantha stood and walked to the edge to retrieve her dinnerware. She had one more thing to say and give him before he left to beat the tar out of random people tonight. Her hips swayed to the music pumping from her portable radio. Her flowing skirt tangled between her legs in the warm breeze. She turned as the song ended to see a slightly disapproving look on Rorschach’s shifting face. A single firework popped in the sky, silhouetting Samantha like a dark statue. Rorschach’s mask mimicked the Willow tree sparkler. A long silence fell between the neighbors as a few more fireworks popped in the sky.  
  
“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Samantha finally said.  
  
“Already have.”  
  
“I...I don’t mean for tonight.” Rorschach’s mask shifted in mild curiosity. What else could she possibly have to apologize for?  
  
“I wanted...to apologize for February. The Position that I out you in. I never...never should have done that. It hadn’t even crossed my mind until you’d said it. Someone could have looked in and seen all that.... Things could have been...so much worse for me had it not been you.... I’m sorry.” Rorschach was taken aback. He was the one who should be apologizing for that incident. “I still collect, I’m sure you know, but I now collect of everyone, not just you,” Samantha pause, whipping a few tears from her eyes. “But I wanted to let you know...that I will never...consciously place you in a position like that again.” She looked to the vigilante. It was hard to tell where his eyes were looking, but his whole body shifted and she knew he was looking at her now.  
  
“Accepted.” Rorschach walked by the hippie to go about his business, but stopped when he heard her turn to him. The snake told him not to do what his heart told him was the right thing. He ignored the snake and spoke, “Didn’t know it was your way to make a living. I’m.... I...,” he couldn’t bring himself to say the next word. He cast a glance at her, she was smiling.  
  
“I know what you want to say. And I understand that you can’t. Apology accepted.” Samantha held out her hand, holding a Hershey Kiss by the label. The silver wrapper shimmered with the many colors of the fireworks crowding the skies. Rorschach took the chocolate from her fingers and stared at the little silver package in his hand.  
  
“Thank you...Samantha.” He barely looked at her face, knowing he’d made her happy. He walked to her edge of the roof and jumped down to the fire escape to bring punishment to those deserving.


	8. Men are Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1968~

“Rorschach, duck!” Nite Owl called. Rorschach managed to dodge the baseball bat in time and land a couple of punches before slamming the Knot-Top to the ground. Nite Owl was dispatching several Katies as two more Knot-Tops came at Rorschach. It took little to disarm the gangsters but for some reason Rorschach was having trouble keeping his head in the game as of late and it was starting to have dangerous repercussions.  
  
“Where the heck is your head at man?” Nite Owl inquired when all the gangsters were writhing on the ground. He swung his shoulder around, he was still getting used to punching bad guys. “Rorschach?” he asked again. Rorschach shook his head, breaking his trance.  
  
“Nothing to worry about. Should get moving,” he stated, dodging the subject completely.  
  
“Nothing to worry about?” Nite Owl questioned. Rorschach ignored him and kept walking toward the street. Nite Owl jogged and caught his partners shoulder to turn him around. “You almost got your head knocked in, by a bat none-the-less. What the heck has got you so distracted?”  
  
“Nothing. Should continue our route.” Rorschach tossed Nite Owl’s hand aside and made for the street once more. The freezing winter weather did nothing to dampen the villainy of the city. If anything, there were more people deserving out this month, but they grew less in the wee hours of the morning.  
  
“Only if you can keep your head in the game.” Rorschach turned to eye his partner. He’d never acted this way before and understood it was worrisome, but he had no time for this game of run around.  
  
“I know you don’t talk much...at all in fact. But if there’s something going on; that I need to know about, I think you’d better tell me. I am your partner after all. We’re supposed to be able to trust each other. I need to know you can take care of yourself and watch my back, just like I do for....”Nite Owl stopped when Rorschach put his hand up.  
  
“Nothing for you to worry about. Will be able to keep my head in the game from now on. Thinking about Big Figure and Underboss.” Rorschach turned to the street again and this time Nite Owl followed.  
  
“Bullshit.” Rorschach stopped, not even turning to Nite Owl. “At least then you’d be keeping your mind on work. This is something different. Very different. Like emotional different. Can I trust you to not let whatever else is going on in your life interfere with our work again? ‘Cause I can’t always watch both of our backs.”  
  
Rorschach turned to Nite Owl; who knew he’d made a mistake by bringing up personal life.  
  
“Just making sure, is all.” Nite Owl raised his hands defensively; hoping not to get slugged by his partner. “Look, it’s getting close to dawn, I’m gonna call it a night, alright?” Rorschach nodded and turned onto the street and vanished from sight. “That. . .could have gone better, Dreiberg,” Daniel said to himself as he called Archie to street level. He climbed into the warmth of his owlship and took him home. He caught sight of Rorschach on a rooftop not too far away. “Hope he can get himself together before something bad happens to him.”  
  
 _Rorschach’s Journal. February 27, 1968:  
Another night of her face swimming through my brain. Beginning to hate this.  
Need to separate myself from her. Concentrate on what is truly important. Deserving must be punished.  
Should have yanked her hair when given the opportunity. Will next time...given the chance.  
Can’t let her Siren spell sway me...no matter how good her cooking is.  
Will find a place to hold up for a week. Live amongst the filth once again. Get my mind back in the game, as Daniel would say.  
Will also walk different parts of the city, can’t see her that way._  
  
Rorschach placed the rubber band around his new journal and palmed it in his worn pocket. Rorschach had decided that Samantha Haley was almost like a mystery that needed solving; and that’s why his mind kept floating back to her. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.  
  
Rorschach wandered the snow lined sidewalks until he came upon an abandoned apartment complex on the other side of the city. He looked in one of the many broken windows. It was a Knot-Top whore house. He sneered at the loose women sleeping atop each other for warmth. Rorschach walked on to another apartment building without any tenants. This one would make a good home for a week.


	9. Stitched Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1969~

_*smiley* Another birthday has come and gone and I’m another year older. I now have a good...well, mostly good twenty-four years to my name. But it’s another year I did nothing to really celebrate it. The last real birthday celebration I had was my twenty-first. I still can’t remember much of that night. Which in this city, can be a bad thing. But I think I stayed in most of that night. Just glad the only thing I woke up with was a hangover and a lump on the head from hitting the floor.  
  
I wish I knew when Walter’s birthday was. I mean I wouldn’t spoil him or anything, he’d break my face. *laughs* But just a little something. I don’t dare ask him. He...we went through another rough patch last year.... A couple actually. Not a pleasant sight. Sometimes I don’t think anything set him off, he just picked something and decided to throw the whole thing out of proportion.... But then I think he does that with a lot of people, Nite Owl included.  
  
Did I mention that I think I met him? Nite Owl, I mean? It was sometime last week actually. His name was...Daniel Dreiberg. Smelled like rust, sulfur, and oil. I’ve seen...smelled Rorschach with someone who smells just like that. I said nothing of course, but he babbled on about owls and the goddess Athena. I may have made his sketch a little feathery because of his talk though. *giggles* I may have to ask Walter about him...then again, maybe not._  
  
As Samantha set her pen to the paper for her next paragraph, she heard a noise from her living room. She stood from her bed and walked to the bat by her bedroom door. She opened it a crack and saw the stout figure of Rorschach standing in her living room.  
  
“Rorschach,” she said as she stepped into the dark living room, leaving the bat leaning against the doorframe. “What...you haven’t done that in a long time. What’s...? You’re bleeding all over my floor.” Samantha took several steps forward in surprise.  
  
“Nothing serious. Good night, Miss Haley.” Rorschach made to leave when Samantha caught his right arm. He turned and jerked his arm from her grasp. The blots shifted angrily and the snake in the pit of his stomach hissed to hit her.  
  
“If it’s nothing serious, you won’t mind if I take a quick look at it, will you?” Her voice hardened a bit, taking Rorschach aback. Her motherly voice hardened often enough that he thought he should be used to it by now, but this was a different kind of hard. Her voice and face; though stern, was still filled with concern and caring. Samantha’s features softened a bit and she asked, “Please? I only want to help.”  
  
Rorschach’s shoulders slumped and he gave a small nod. Samantha took a small piece of his trench coat between her thumb and forefinger and lead the vigilante into her kitchen.  
  
“You’re going to want to take that off.” Samantha pointed between her own face and Rorschach’s as she walked to the window. She pulled the shade down and flipped the light on before turning to her neighbor. His blood was dripping from his left glove and staining her white tiled floor. “Or you could, you know, not. That’s okay too.”  
  
Samantha walked back over and maneuvered Rorschach so he was directly under the light. He was surprised how forceful her gestures were, but how light her touch was. She barely placed her hands on him to get a look at his wound. Samantha lifted the cut fabric from the injury and gave it a good look. It was a lengthy wound with poor stitching. Some were stretching and tearing the skin, some were too loose.  
  
“Please, tell me you did not try to stitch this up yourself? Sit.” She walked to the cabinets and pulled down a tall glass. Samantha reached for the fridge and pulled the half-gallon milk from the door. She poured the glass, replaced the jug, turned to see Rorschach still standing and placed the glass in front of him.  
  
“I’m re-stitching you, whether you like it or not. My guess would be not. Please, sit. Please, drink the milk. And please take your coat off, it’s salvageable. Sit and I’ll be right back.” Samantha pointed to the seat and gestured to her bedroom. Only when Rorschach finally sat did Samantha run off to her bathroom.  
  
She first opened her medicine cabinet and grabbed the large bottle of alcohol. She placed it on the counter as she squatted to the cabinet beneath the sink. Samantha had bought the first aid kit when she first learned Walter and Rorschach were one in the same. She stood and grabbed the bottle from the sink. Samantha walked to her closet and snapped on the light.  
  
“Gloves...gloves...? Where the hell, oh, there you are.” She snagged the box of latex gloves from the top shelf and headed back to the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to find Rorschach hadn’t even touched the milk, but was pleased that he had taken his coat off...at least half of it.  
  
Samantha placed the kit, alcohol and gloves on the table and walked to her counter for a few wash towels. “Would you mind taking your mask off? I want to gauge your pain and I can’t quite read inkblots yet,” she said as she pulled another chair around to Rorschach’s side. She heard him sigh before moving to remove his fedora and mask.  
  
Samantha placed one towel on her left leg and the other two on her right. She reached passed Walter for two pair of latex gloves. Walter placed his fedora and mask on the table. He watched her slip both pair of powdery gloves on before she even touched him.  
  
She glanced at the sight before her, trying to figure out the best way to go about this process without stressing her gynophobic neighbor too much. Samantha scooted her chair back and tore the sleeve clean from the shirt and tossed it aside. She placed her fingers lightly under his wrist and lifted his hand. She felt his muscles tighten but she couldn’t do this without some form of contact. Slid the glove from his hand and tossed it into her kitchen sink.  
  
Samantha scooted a little closer to Walter and placed his hand atop the towel on her left leg. His jaw tightened at the close proximity to a woman, but her knew there was no way around it. She shifted even closer to her “patient” and reached across him once more for the forceps and scissors.  
  
“This is going to hurt a little. You need pain killers?”  
  
“Fine like this.”  
  
“I suppose that means you have some on board then.” Samantha turned her attention to the wound before her. She cast her eyes between it and Walter’s face, trying to gauge his pain. He was just as impossible to read as his mask...mostly. Occasionally he’d react to the tug of flesh as she pulled the poorly done stitches from his weathered skin. Blood lightly trickled from the wound to her kitchen floor. He grunted as she pulled the last few out all at once.  
  
“Sorry,” Samantha grimaced. She plucked the top towel from her right leg and placed it over the wound while her other hand cupped his arm, placing pressure on it. She was surprised at just how built he felt and looked without all the excess of clothes. When she was sure the bleeding had all but stopped, Samantha removed the cloth.  
  
“What clipped you?” she asked, tossing the towel with the sleeve she had removed.  
  
“Knife.”  
  
“And what...? You picked a fight with someone else on your way home?” Walter fought to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up at her question. “No wonder these stitches are so bad. One, they weren’t stitched by someone who knew what they were doing. Two, you stretched them by fighting some more. No wonder you’re bleeding so much.” Samantha reached across Walter again and just picked the kit up.  
  
Samantha rummaged through it until she found the right needle and stitching thread. She threaded and knotted the needle quickly and stuck it in her pants.  
  
“Would you hand me the alcohol please?” she asked. Walter passed her the bottle and watched her wet the final towel. “This is going to sting...like a lot.” She palmed the towel to his injury and Walter gritted his teeth. No amount of over-the-counter pain killers would stop him from feeling that. Samantha pulled the cloth away and began to wipe some of the blood from view.  
  
“At least you have a very high pain threshold,” Samantha joked as she placed the pink towel back on her leg before pulling the needle from her ragged jeans. She slid the needle as gently as she could, tugging lightly with the forceps. She smiled at Walter for reassurance before returning to her work; casting him small glances every other minute. Walter found that he’d been staring at her eyes almost the entire time and still couldn’t figure out the problem with them.  
  
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he finally inquired. He watched her hands pause a full heartbeat before pulling the needle through his flesh again.  
  
“It’s a long story, better saved for when I’m done.” Samantha continued stitching until Walter gripped her left hand tightly with his own. She gasped and the needle slipped from the forceps; hanging from Walter’s skin.  
  
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked again, his grip tightening.  
  
“If I tell you, you won’t let me, OW! I’m legally blind in my left eye,” Samantha stated. She watched as surprise clouded Walter’s features. “Been that way for the better part of a decade now. Can I...finish please?” She pulled her hand from his loosening grip and picked the needle up once more.  
  
Walter allowed her a few more stitches before asking, “Born that way?”  
  
“Not if it’s only been about ten years,” she smiled. “You drink the milk, I’ll tell you how it got that way?” she bribed. Walter glared at his hippie neighbor. He didn’t like being bribed to get information, normally he just hurt people. Samantha watched as his curiosity won out and he picked up the perspiring glass and drank from it.  
  
“I was born with a stigmatism; simply meaning I can’t see as well, in my left eye. Mother knew and didn’t care. Never did anything to help. My younger sister was her pride and joy...I was her black mark and she let me know it too. Whenever I did something wrong; which just means that I didn’t do it her way, she’d slap me up the left side of my head.  
  
“Just before my fourteenth birthday, my mother married her third husband. His name was Kevin Mackey. She married him for money and he married her...for me. An agreement my mother made willingly. As long as she had her money, she was willing to do anything to keep it.... He raped me the night of my fourteenth birthday.... Damn, ten years ago tonight.  
  
“The day before I left home, I got up the courage to report him to the police. Got him arrested for a day and he got out that night on bail. He came home and, I don’t know if you can still see it, but he hit me upside the head with a bottle of Jack.” Samantha paused in her work and traced a line around her left eye with a pinky. When she returned to her work, Walter saw the thin, white scar that almost encircled her eye.  
  
“I was legally blinded that night. A mix of the blow to the head and the whiskey. I left the next day. Hijacked a car and headed back east. I was seventeen then. I crossed the country in two years and came back home.” Samantha smiled sadly.  
  
She removed both sets of gloves and patted Walter on the shoulder. “You’re done.” Samantha scooted away and dropped the other bloody towels with the first. Walter looked at the wound and was impressed; she’d done a great job. He was so lost in her story that he didn’t even notice that she had cleaned his arm of blood.  
  
“Where...where did you learn to stitch?” he inquired before draining the rest of the milk from his glass.  
  
“I’m mostly self taught. I did lookup some tips and tricks from a few medical books.” She smiled back at him from the sink; she was washing the glove she’d tossed in earlier. He had other questions he wanted to ask, but the snake in his stomach hissed at him again. Walter ignored it.  
  
“Why did you need to learn?”  
  
“You think Kevin was gentle because I was...,” Samantha paused and waved her fingers through the air while counting silently to herself. “Because I was twenty-three years and four and a half days younger than him?” Walter’s head shot up. “What…? You thought he was closer to my age didn’t you? The ones that are the worst to repair by yourself are the ones you can’t see.” Samantha turned her back to Walter and traced a line from her right shoulder, crossing her back and stopping at her left knee.  
  
“That one was a bitch to stitch.” Samantha walked to her fridge and pulled a bag down from atop it. She placed it in front of him. “Take as many as you want, you’ve earned them.” Samantha plucked the bloody towels from the floor, balled them up and threw them in the trash.  
  
“What about your senses?” Walter questioned. He’d known that first time he had attacked her that she knew exactly where he was hiding.  
  
Samantha leaned against the counter. “They compensated for the loss of one eye. My right has better than average vision. My ears even adapted and if I wanted to; which I don’t, I could tell you exactly what Mrs. Shairp is trying out tonight.” Samantha giggled. “My sense of smell is keener and I never forget how someone smells.” When her neighbor raised his brow, she decided to prove her point. “You, for instance, smell like sugar and blood. But it comes as a light rusty smell. Nite Owl smells like dust, sulfur, and oil. This guy I sketched the other day,” Samantha walked to one of the living room windows and retrieved a sketchbook. “He smells just like Nite Owl.” Walter stared at the portrait of Daniel Dreiberg.  
  
“Can’t be the same,” he lied.  
  
“Yes they can. No two people smell the same, Walter. They can have similar scents but with different blends, but he,” she pointed to the sketch. “Smells just like Nite Owl. And he is, isn’t he?” Walter said nothing, but looked away from the sketch. “You know me, Walter. I would die before telling a soul. I won’t even let him know that I know that he’s Nite Owl.” Samantha set the sketchbook down and walked back to the sink to pick up his left glove. Walter took two handfuls of the sugar cubes before standing to replace his trench coat.  
  
“If you leave it with me, I’ll patch it up and have it back to you before you head out tonight.” Samantha motioned to his torn sleeve with his clean glove. Walter took the glove and removed the rest of his jacket.  
  
“Thank you, Samantha.” She beamed as she took the coat from him.  
  
“See you later, Kovacs.” She had a sudden thought as her neighbor began to close her door. “By the way,” she started. Walter opened the door a little wider to hear her. “Tell Nite Owl he needs to learn to stitch better if you two plan on remaining partners for a while. I never wanna see stitches like that ever again.”  
  
“Hurm. Will let him know.” Walter nodded his good night and when he closed her door, Samantha ran back to her bedroom and picked up her journal.  
  
 _I have never been more nervous in my entire life! I mean, my god! I just did my best stitching EVER on Walter. His pulse was racing...though that may have been mine, but that joke is beside the point. He was so tense ‘til I started telling my story. Every muscle relaxed and I was able to work much faster. I don’t even think he felt anything throughout my story. Doubtful he actually believes it all, but I don’t care. It got him to relax, that’s all that makes me happy...well, to actually feel his skin without gloves between me and him would have been a much nicer birthday gift, but I guess I’ll just have to take it as is.  
  
*smiley* That’s all I have for tonight.  
  
September the seventh, nineteen sixty-nine. Samantha *smiley*  
  
P.S. - I forgot to mention, the talk about Kevin put me a little on edge.... I really hope nothing bad happens tomorrow._


	10. Away From the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Samantha’s mind suddenly snapped back into consciousness. The first thing she felt was pain. A lot of pain. Everything hurt, including thinking. She rolled her eyes under her lids, listening to her surroundings. It sounded busy, it felt unfamiliar, and it smelled sterile. Samantha slowly opened her right eye. Something soft covered her left and wouldn’t allow it to open. She lifted her right hand and felt the covering. Gauze.  
  
Her eye began to focus on the number of objects around her. Beeping machines, another empty bed, and a nurse at the foot of her own. Samantha’s gaze traveled down her own body stopping at her left hand. It was heavily wrapped in gauze and had an IV needle in the crook of the elbow.  
  
The nurse began to leave without noticing her patient was awake. Samantha tried to speak but her throat was incredibly raw. Images of hands around her neck flashed in her mind and a croaked cry made the nurse turn at the door.  
  
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said quietly as she walked back to the bedside. “How do you feel?” Samantha arched her brow in an ‘Are you serious?’ kind of way. The nurse giggled. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a stupid question, but it’s standard and I have to ask it. Are you in any pain?” Samantha tried speaking again but her voice still wouldn’t work, so she nodded.  
  
The nurse smiled, “I’ll be back with the doctor in a moment then.” Samantha watched the nurse exit before trying to move her whole, pained body. Everything ached. Images of shattered glass, blood, fists and a strangled cry filled her mind. Samantha closed her eye as tears welled. Her breath came in croaking gasps. She heard footsteps and opened her eyes.  
  
“Miss, I need you to calm down, breath easy,” he said. Samantha’s chest hurt as she tried to slow her breathing. After almost ten minutes she had it under control. “Easy, that’s it. I’m Doctor Marks. Do you know where you are?” Samantha nodded. “Good, where are you?”  
  
“Mer...cy...,” Samantha paused, putting a hand to her throat. She straightened up a little and tried to speak again. “Mercy General Hospital. Just outside Time Square.” Her brow furrowed, her voice sounded different. She massaged her throat, trying to sooth it’s soreness. The nurse walked in with a needle in her hand and followed by a police officer.  
  
The doctor looked surprised by his patients answer. “At least you know the general area. Do you remember your name?” he inquired as the officer took a stance behind him. The doctor cast him an uneasy glance.  
  
“Sa...Samantha Lynn Haley. Born September seventh, nineteen forty-four,” Samantha rattled off to the doctor’s pleasure. The nurse was by her side, putting the needle of pain medication in the IV tube.  
  
“That’s good to hear.” The doctor made a few notes on her chart.  
  
“Do you remember what happened to you?” the police officer questioned. The doctor rolled his eyes as he turned to the officer.  
  
“I was getting to that. I’d appreciated it if; at the moment, that you would allow me ask her the questions. Are we clear?” the doctor threatened. The officer nodded and flattened himself against the wall.  
  
“Can I get this off, please?” Samantha was pulling at the gauze covering her left eye.  
  
“Of course, let me help.” The doctor stepped to her bedside and pulled a set of scissors from his lab-coat pocket. He snipped the gauze and slowly unwrapped Samantha’s head.  
  
“Much better, right?” he asked, tossing the gauze in the trash. Samantha finally opened both eyes and was shocked. “This doesn’t look good,” Doctor Marks stated. Samantha lifted her right hand to cover her right eye. She blinked her left eye to make sure it was open.  
  
“The wound has completely healed but there’s a problem with your eye. It didn’t look like this when you were brought in.” Doctor Marks pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and checked pupil reaction. There was none.  
  
“Must be a detached retina,” Samantha stated as she swatted the doctor’s hand away.  
  
“You mean...this isn’t a problem?” Doctor Marks sounded surprised.  
  
“Hell no.” Samantha tried to laugh, but could only cough. “I was legally blind in that eye anyway. Could barely make out a few colors and only saw shadows. This is nothing,” Samantha sighed as the morphine kicked in.  
  
The doctor leaned in, beyond his patients comfort zone, “Do you remember what happened to you?”  
  
Samantha opened her; now greatly, mismatched eyes. They were sad and angry. “Yea....” Her eyes told the doctor that she; for the time being, was refusing to elaborate. Her eyes began to  close as the morphine took effect and she tried to slip back into the throws of sleep. The doctor shook her shoulder lightly and her eyes snapped open again.  
  
“Just one more question, Ms. Haley. What’s the date?”  
  
“Friday...no, Saturday, June tenth, nineteen seventy-two. Why?” She cocked her head to look her doctor in the eyes.  
  
“I’m afraid it’s not. You’ve been asleep for a week, Ms. Haley. It’s Friday, June sixteenth, nineteen seventy-two,” Doctor Marks stated.  
  
“...what?” Samantha’s eyes rolled in their sockets and she was trying to account for what the doctor had just said but she couldn’t. It had felt like she’d slept through one night, not a whole week.  
  
“Are you alright?” he questioned. Samantha shook her head and looked out the window. She couldn’t believe he’d been out of the world for a week. “Do you need anything?” Doctor Marks probed.  
  
“Sleep,” Samantha sighed. The officer looked between her and the doctor and motioned for the later to follow him to the door.  
  
“I thought I was going to be able to speak with her tonight?” the officer whispered harshly.  
  
“She’s been through a traumatic incident, recovery cannot be rushed. Especially since she’s only just woken up. You’ll have to come back another time,” Doctor Marks whispered back.  
  
“He can come back tomorrow.” Both men looked to Samantha. The nurse was also looking at her patient. How had she heard them? The nurse didn’t even know they were talking. “I’ll be more awake and alert then. Able to...,” Samantha yawned painfully. “Able to answer your questions better tomorrow.”  
  
“It’s decided then. You can come back tomorrow, Sir.” Doctor Marks moved to escort the officer out. “Kelley, give her something to help her sleep and check on her every hour,” he ordered before walking out.  
  
“You don’t need anything do you?” Samantha shook her head. “But even I have to follow doctors orders. I’ll be right back.” Kelley placed a gentle hand on Samantha’s shoulder before leaving the room.  
  
Samantha turned back to the window, her mind weaving around the events that had taken place last Friday. She remembered every pain, every breaking bone. Her eyes began to close; she’d never heard the nurse return.  
  
Kelley watched as her patient fell asleep. She placed a hand on her shoulder again before leaving. At the door, she turned back and said in a soft voice, “Sleep well, Samantha.”


	11. Food & Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Samantha awoke with a scream and startled her nurse. “Oh, god, you scared me!” Kelley said in a hushed voice.  
  
“Ditto,” Samantha half laughed, half coughed.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“No.... But...I will be, eventually.” Samantha tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth pulled down. She felt Kelley’s hand on her shoulder again and managed to keep the tears at bay. She closed her eyes and gave a shuddering sigh before completely regaining control of herself.  
  
“Do you mind if I sit you up and get you something to eat?” Kelley questioned in a soft tone.  
  
“No, I don’t mind,” Samantha replied.  
  
“What would you like? We can make almost anything.”  
  
“Chicken broth...and a peanut butter an’ jelly sandwich.” Samantha’s stomach growled as she realized just how hungry she was.  
  
“The peanut butter might be off limits. You have a partially crushed larynx. That’s why your voice sounds a little different,” Kelley said as she finished sitting her patient up.  
  
Samantha looked at her nurse. “How do you know my voice sounds different?”  
  
“The look on your face earlier today. When the doctor was...,” she paused, trying to find the right word. “Questioning you. You looked like you didn’t sound like yourself. But you do look familiar, I just can’t place where I know you from.” Kelley shrugged.  
  
“You might take this the wrong way, but you smell familiar to me. Maybe I drew you once,” Samantha stated, trying to think, but her brain was a little sluggish. “I’ll drink the broth at the same time. Make it all go down easier,” Samantha smiled. Kelley grinned and nodded, saying something about it being a good choice and she’d be back in a minute or two. Samantha continued to think where she may have known her nurse from, but it was as if someone else was controlling her brain and images she didn’t want to recall until tomorrow kept racing forward.  
  
“Your order is in Ma’am,” Kelley said in a joking voice as she re-entered the room. She walked to Samantha’s bedside and lifted her left hand. “I need you to make a fist for me, please.” Samantha’s hand felt stiff, but she got her fingers to curl into a light fist.  
  
“Tighter please,” Kelley ordered in her soft voice.  
  
“I can’t with the gauze on,” Samantha commented. Kelley took a set of small scissors from her pocket and began to remove the linen from the pained hand.  
  
“This might be a little bit of a shock, so be warned.” She removed the last of the gauze and the wound was visible. A perfect hole in Samantha’s palm, with a new layer of skin just stretching over it. Kelley looked at the wound and shuddered. “There are some sights you just don’t get used to in this job,” she said as Samantha put the hand to her seeing eye and tried to look through the thin skin.  
  
“How often do you get to look through a hole in your own hand?” Samantha inquired, a playful note to her voice and a smirk on her lips.  
  
“But that’s...just morbid.” Kelley shuddered again. “Alright, enough of the macabre. Make me a good sluggin’ people fist please.” Samantha did as commanded. Her finger took a little coaxing to curl, but she made a decent fist. “Hold it for a moment. Okay, now fan them out and hold it.” Samantha did as bidden again. Her long fingers were sore from their lack of use and she was in some pain from these simple exorcises.  
  
She grimaced as she relaxed her hand. “Ow,” she stated simply.  
  
“You’ve been asleep for a week, so you are going to be very stiff. Everywhere. Do you wanna get up and walk with me a little until your food gets here?” Kelley offered. Samantha nodded. She’d be going home in the next couple days and would need to make sure her legs worked before leaving.  
  
“Shouldn’t my doctor be doing this?” Samantha inquired as Kelley removed the IV from her arm.  
  
“Would you really want Doctor Marks marching you about the hospital while trying to extract all the data about what happened to you he could? Because that’s exactly what he’d do.” Kelley helped Samantha swing her legs over the side of the bed. “I want you to lean on me when you stand, okay? And I’ll try to be careful of your ribs.”  
  
“Are you saying that my doctor has no tact?” Kelley nodded as Samantha draped her arm around Kelley’s shoulders and slid from the bed. Her legs wobbled terribly beneath her, but she was determined not to fall. She felt a pinch in her torso and assumed it was her ribs.  
  
“I’m amazed that your legs aren’t broken, all the injuries you had.” Kelley walked Samantha several steps before letting her walk on her own.  
  
“So am I. Does Doctor Marks always invade personal space like that?” Samantha inquired, turning wobbly to her nurse; who moved forward to catch her, but Samantha held her hands up, indicating she’d stay standing.  
  
“Only with pretty women...actually, he does it with all women. He’s...,” Kelley paused trying to find the word.  
  
“A pig?” Samantha suggested.  
  
“Unfortunately. But he’s also one of the best doctors this hospital has. I saw how uncomfortable he made you yesterday. I’d like to apologize for that and any other action he takes toward you.” Kelley sat on the edge of the bed, her head hanging.  
  
“Even knowing what happened to me?” Samantha walked around the room, making sure her legs would be able to carry her for an extended time.  
  
“All any of us know, is that you were violently attacked by a man who was killed by your neighbor while he was trying to save your life. What did happen?” Kelley pressed as Samantha came around the curtain blocking the empty bed from view.  
  
“A lot of shit...that’ll be explained tomorrow when the police officer comes back.” Samantha sat back on her bed, her legs tired of carrying her.  
  
Kelley nodded. “I’ll be here tomorrow too. I’ve been switching shifts to try and stay here. I don’t trust a pretty woman like you alone with Doctor Marks. He pushes too hard to get the information he wants. And...yea Nick?” Kelley said when she saw the shadow at the door.  
  
“Your patients food is ready,” he said, walking a tray in to the nurse.  
  
“Thanks, Nick.” Kelley took the tray and watched as Samantha got back under the covers. “The chicken broth smells good. And I told them to go light on the peanut butter,” Kelley smiled as she place the tray on Samantha’s lap.  
  
Samantha half-smiled at her nurse, “I have drawn you. You had longer hair a year ago.” She lifted the broth and breathed in its liquid chicken fragrance. Kelley looked confused a moment then recognized her patient fully.  
  
“You’re the artist that sits on the corner near the diner, right?” Samantha nodded, taking a sip of the broth. “You’re right, I did have longer hair then. Hospital made me cut it though. Unsanitary they said.” Kelley sat on the very edge of the bed as her patient ate. They sat in a comfortable silence, the occasional cough breaking it. Samantha set the empty bowl of broth down on the tray.  
  
“Sated,” she stated.  
  
Kelley took the tray in hand and stood. “You gonna try and head back to sleep?” Samantha yawned in response. “Do you need anything to help you get to sleep then?”  
  
“No, I think I’ll be fine on my own.” Samantha smiled. “I wish you were my doctor. I like you much better,” she said as she made herself as comfortable as possible.  
  
“So do I. I’ll see you later, Samantha.” Kelley exited the room, pulling the door closed a little.  
  
Samantha rolled over to face the large window in her room. She gave a little wave to a figure she could just barely make out on the roof across the way. It gave a small wave back before walking away. Samantha fell asleep with a small grin on her face, Rorschach was watching over her.


	12. Questions & Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Samantha’s brow furrowed as she heard male voices enter her room. Groggily, she opened her eyes and turned her head toward the door.  
  
“Ah, you’re awake,” Doctor Marks said, walking over to prop her up.  
  
“Barely. Where’s Kelley?” Samantha asked, pushing the doctor’s helpful hand away.  
  
“I told Nurse Harris to go home. She’s been working too many hours and this hospital doesn’t do overtime.” Doctor Marks gripped her forearm and sat Samantha up forcefully. A twang sounded in Samantha’s ribs and she gripped the doctors tie, bringing his face to hers.  
  
“Touch me like that again, or invade my personal space like you did yesterday and I swear I will beat you senseless with the IV stand. You understand me, Doctor Marks?” she whispered through her teeth. Samantha released his tie and he stood sharply to loosen it. “Now, please, stand over there with the officer.” Doctor Marks complied with little fight.  
  
He picked up her chart, “How are you feeling today?”  
  
“Shitty. I was beaten within an inch of my life, how would you feel?” Samantha snapped. She wanted Kelley to be there with her.  
  
“I imagine I’d feel about the same as you,” Doctor Marks said, writing something on her chart. ‘I bet you wouldn’t,’ Samantha thought to herself. “I know we didn’t have that much time to talk yesterday, are there any questions you’d like to ask?”  
  
“What time is it?”  
  
Doctor Marks check his watch. “About ten in the morning.”  
  
“How many broken bones do I have?”  
  
The doctor looked taken aback. “I’m not...are you sure that’s the first thing you want to know?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have asked it if it wasn’t. How many, Doctor Marks?”  
  
He contemplated continuing fighting the subject until his patient nodded toward the IV stand. He sighed and looked down to her chart to check. “Five ribs; three on the left, two on the right and your left orbital. You also had a severe wound in your left hand, a partially crushed larynx and the detached retina,” he rattled off. “I don’t think I missed anything. Why? Do you feel as if you have more?”  
  
“A little. Probably just the muscle being sore. How did I get here?” Samantha questioned adjusting herself into a more comfortable position.  
  
“You don’t remember?” the officer asked. Doctor Marks threw him a dirty look, as if he was the only one allowed to ask the questions around here.  
  
“No...I remember Kovacs calling the ambulance.... I remember being on my bed...but I don’t remember getting down the seven flights of stairs,” Samantha recalled.  
  
“The ambulance said you were still mostly conscious when they brought you here. I guess the pain must have just been too great,” the officer offered. This time Doctor Marks turned to him to berate him.  
  
“Doctor?” Samantha called. He turned a little to her with a questioning look on his face. “Stand down. I know you alpha male types. And I bet I can find a number of female patients of yours that might be willing to press charges on anything you might have done to them. He is a POLICE OFFICER. He’s allowed to ask and answer questions.” Doctor Marks went pale white. He gulped and turned away from the officer. “Good boy,” Samantha mocked. The officer looked between the doctor and patient, unsure of what to do next.  
  
“Will any charges be filed against my neighbor?” Samantha asked the cop.  
  
“No. We’ve been to your apartment and we’ve seen that his part of the tale is true. He killed this man, who was trying to kill you. He saved your life and anything he did, was in self defense.” Samantha smiled sadly and nodded. She had hoped that was the case. When several minutes of silence passed, he finally asked the burning question, “What exactly happened to you, Ma’am?”  
  
“I can tell you, on one condition.”  
  
“What’s that?” both men asked in unison.  
  
“No interruptions. I want to get through it in one clean run. Write down any questions you have and I’ll try to answer them afterwards, alright?” Both men nodded.  
  
“It was a normal day. I got up, I did my morning things and then I went to work.... But then...then the shit hit the fan...,” Samantha started.


	13. Of Sandalwood, Smoke, and Rust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Samantha yawned big in the heat of the early June sun. The haze wafted off the street in waves but everyone seemed to be in a good mood despite it.  
  
“Sorry about that. Long night,” she explained to the couple sitting behind her sketchpad. The couple mumbled something about not needing to worry, so she continued to sketch. “What part of New York are you guys from?” Samantha liked to make small talk with as many customers as possible. It helped her flesh out their sketches.  
  
“We’re not, actually. We’re from New Hampshire, just visiting but we’ll be here a while. How long do these sketches usually take?” the woman asked.  
  
“Not long. The heat’s been makin’ people a little crabby, so I haven’t had many customers lately. I should have this done tomorrow, if you don’t mind coming back to pick it up?” Samantha loved how cute the couple was together. He hung on her and she held him up.  
  
“Not at all. You get a lot of business sitting here?” The boyfriend spoke this time.  
  
“Strangely enough, I do. I get really busy around the holidays. Some people come in their Halloween costumes, couples at Valentine’s day. I’ve even gotten a couple families at Christmas time. Would you guys like to have a look so far?” Samantha turned the sketchbook to her clients. She smiled at their smiles.  
  
“It’s beautiful. So tomorrow around what time?” the girlfriend asked, as Samantha stood to stretch her legs. Then she smelled something in the air, something that made her frantically search the crowd.  
  
“Are you alright?” the boyfriend asked the artist. Samantha’s eyes were wide when she turned back to her clients.  
  
“Yah...fine. Sorry. I just remembered that I have something really important to do tomorrow that I hafta prepare for today. How long are you guys gonna be in town?” Samantha closed her sketchbook and picked up her bag of pencils.  
  
“We’ll be in the city for another couple weeks, at least. And we were gonna go to Long Island tomorrow anyways. How about we stop by sometime next week?” the girl inquired.  
  
“Next week, good.” Samantha tried walking away.  
  
“What if you’re not here?” she asked, a confused look on her face.  
  
“Try again a couple days after that. I’m sorry to rush away, but I really hafta go. Enjoy New York.” Samantha waved at the couple while walking backwards into the crowd. She turned and saw Walter across the street. He was wearing his own confused look. She’d never acted this way before.  
  
Samantha bumped into people as she tried to get away from her corner. She sniffed the air again...maybe it had been her imagination. A block away from her corner, Samantha finally stopped moving. She slumped her bag to the ground and placed her hands on her knees, trying to convince herself he couldn’t be here. She closed her eyes and listened to everyone walking around her. Heels, work boots, loafers, and flip-flops were all she heard for the longest time. Then she heard the click of cowboy boots. Her eyes snapped open and she sniffed the air again. He was here. Sandalwood, smoke, and rust. Samantha didn’t want to look into the crowd and see his face but she raised her head just the same.  
  
He was ten years older now; he’d be fifty in September, but it was Kevin Mackey. His shoulder length brown hair was the same, only with more salt-n-pepper. He wore the same smug smile he always had, with the same brand of cigarettes parting his lips. He still out-muscled Samantha and was still quite fit despite his age. Kevin’s smile broadened when he caught Samantha’s ginger hair and jade eyes in the crowd.  
  
Walter watched on, unsure of what to make of the situation. Kovacs watched her eyes pass between him and someone he couldn’t pick out of the crowd. He could see she was terrified of whoever it was, so he started to try and cross the street.  
  
“Sammy!” Kevin cried above the din of the walkers. Samantha stood and took several steps back from her step father. “Y’u’ve grown up an’ filled out better than Ah’d hoped. Now, le’s not make a scene. Come an’ give y’ur daddy a hug,” Kevin coaxed, his arms open. Samantha shook her head and ran, dropping her sketchbook to the pavement. Kevin swore under his breath and ran after her.  
  
Samantha expertly dodged as many New Yorkers as she could, moving as fast as she could. Her lengthy ginger hair whipped behind her as she turned the corner and saw she was five blocks from home. Behind her she heard, “Sammy! Stop runnin’ goddammit!” She didn’t dare turn around and see how close he was to catching her hair in his fingertips. She reached a hand ahead of her and managed to tip the trash can as she passed it. Samantha heard Kevin tumble, but still didn’t look back until she wrenched open the door to her complex. He was getting up as she pulled the door closed behind her.  
  
Kevin threw the door open just in time to watch Samantha’s feet run up the stairs. “Ya know Ah’m gonna catch ya,” he shouted as he sprinted for the stairs. Samantha tripped two flights ahead of Kevin, spilling her purse. She left it and most of the contents on the landing, but snagged her keys as she stood to run again.  
  
“Gotcha!” Kevin gripped Samantha’s ankle and brought her tumbling to the landing again. “Ah to’d you Ah’d catch ya. Now you mine ag’in,” Kevin cooed. Samantha brought her free foot to his nuts and sent him falling backwards down the stairs. She scrambled up the last two flights of stairs and ran to her door. She fumbled with the keys as she heard Kevin making his way back up the stairs.  
  
“Come on.” She fit the key into the lock and opened it, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Fuck.” She frantically searched her key ring for the deadbolt key and slid it into the lock as Kevin appeared on the top landing. “Come on!” She turned the knob and the key simultaneously. Kevin body checked Samantha into her door and let her drop to the floor when the door hit the wall.  
  
Samantha’s head hit the floor with a crack. Blood trickled down the left side of her face and her vision became drastically difficult. She tried to get up but was stomped to the ground. Kevin ground the heel of his boot into her ribs as he gentle pushed the door closed, keys still in the lock. Samantha screamed when one of her ribs finally cracked under the pressure.  
  
“Now, look what y’u’ve made meh go an’ do. Before Ah can even have any o’ my fun,” Kevin giggled, lifting his foot from her back. “Why ya runnin’ from meh?”  
  
Samantha coughed as she stood. “Because you’re an asshole?” She spit blood and a tooth to the floor.  
  
“Y’u’ve made meh ruin y’ur pretty littl’ face. An’ we ain’t even started yet. Ten years ya made meh look fer ya. TEN!” Kevin shouted, taking a swing at his step daughter. Samantha just managed to dodge it. He stood between her and the door and knew he would get to her before she even had a chance to open the fire exit window. Samantha was trying to weigh her options as he rambled on about what he’d do to her. She might be able to make it to her baseball bat.  
  
Samantha ran for her bedroom. “No ya don’t!” Kevin reached out and caught a handful of her ginger hair. He yanked and she was sent crashing into her glass coffee table. She screamed as glass chunks became imbedded in the flesh of her back. Kevin walked around her and placed his boot on her chest and applied just enough pressure to break another rib.  
  
“ARGH!” Samantha clawed at his leg to get him off her. Kevin grabbed her right arm and yanked her up from the floor, catching her by the throat.  
  
“Now, ya know this kinda shit only pisses meh off, right? Ah know ya know. Ya got the scars to prove it.” He smacked her ass and released her throat, but kept her right arm in hand. Samantha heaved a few coughs as she tried to pull her arm from his grip. He laughed at her futile attempts to free herself. “Ten years shouldn’t o’ hurt y’ur mem’ry that much. Ya know ya can’t get away from my vice grip,” Kevin smiled as she pulled her closer to him.  
  
“Fuck you!” she screamed and clawed his face. Kevin screamed out, but didn’t release her. Before feeling his wound, he whipped her around by her arm and dislocated it. Samantha crumbled to the floor with a scream.  
  
“You...fuckin’ bitch! Look what ya did t’ my face!” Kevin kicked Samantha’s ribs over and over again. She cried out with every kick, but it wasn’t until her back hit the wall that she cried, “STOP!” Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth and her limp arm pinned under her body. Kevin brought his leg back for one more great kick and she cringed, waiting for it to hit. He stutter stepped to a stop just before his foot made contact.  
  
“Shit,” he said and walked away from her. Samantha opened her eyes and saw him walking. Tears filled her eyes and mingled with her blood on the floor. “Stop cryin’. Ah hate it when you cry,” he shouted and took several strides toward his crumbled step daughter. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. “What did Ah jus’ say, child? Stop that cryin’!” He pressed Samantha against a window, staining it with her blood. She clawed his hand but couldn’t stop herself from crying. Kevin pressed his hand harder into her throat and could hear her trying to take a breath.  
  
“Ya gonna stop cryin’, then?” he whispered. Samantha nodded, she’d say anything to be able to breath. Kevin threw Samantha to the ground, another rib broke and she coughed; trying to take in air. “Goddamn. Ya always could take a beatin’. But this,” he knelt to her level and lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “This is gonna be the v’ry las’ beatin’ y’ur evah gonna get.” He smiled menacingly. Samantha’s eyes went wide and she tried to hit him, but he still had all his stamina and dodged it easily. “These years apart gone an’ made you weak girl. Ya used t’ be able t’ take much more an’ this an’ still be able t’ hit meh.” Kevin grabbed most of Samantha’s hair and dragged her across the floor.  
  
“Let go of me!” she screamed and kicked as they passed the threshold to her bedroom. She tried to find his hand with her good arm but was unable in her mess of hair. He released her beside the bed and her head bounced off the floor once more. Samantha could only see stars as Kevin ordered, “Get in the bed.” She heard him walk into the bathroom as she rolled over, trying to clear her vision of the white spots.  
  
As her vision began to regain focus, she saw her baseball bat lying a few feet away. She hadn’t realized she knocked it over. She reached out with her left hand, but it was just beyond her grasp. Samantha barely saw his cowboy boots come back into view until they stepped on the bat and kicked it under the bed. More tears began to well in her eyes. If someone didn’t call for help soon...she was going to be dead in the next hour...maybe less.  
  
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ya know better th’n that.” She could hear the sinister smile in Kevin’s voice.  
  
“...please, don’t do this. Please...no, no, NO! Please, NO!” Her mouth hung open in a silent scream. Kevin had taken a pencil from Samantha’s dresser and stabbed it through her left hand. Tears flowed freely from her wide eyes and her breath hitched in her throat.  
  
Kevin cupped her face in a soothing manner. “Remembah what Ah taught ya. Control that pain. Stop lookin’ at it and control y’ur breath, bitch.” He shook her head and her tearful eyes turned to his face. Slowly she began to control her breath as Kevin pulled the pencil from the wooden floor. Now both her arms were useless.  
  
Kevin lifted her by her throat once more and tossed her onto the bed then climbed atop her. Glass shifted in her flesh and she squirmed beneath the weight of her step father. He let his weight fall gently onto her chest and cracked two more ribs. Samantha’s scream was cut short when he placed both his thick hands around her throat.  
  
“Can’t fight meh now, can ya, Sammy? Ten years Ah’ve waited fer this moment. Ah ain’t even gonna fuck you silly. Ah’m jus’ gonna kill ya,” he whispered to her. Samantha’s eyes began to rolled back in their sockets when a voice made Kevin release his step daughters throat.  
  
“Get. Off. Her.” Samantha turned her head to look at the door. Through the blood, she saw that Walter stood just beyond the threshold of her bedroom. He was breathing heavily from running after them. Was it really just that small amount of time Kevin had had with her?  
  
“Well, well, well. Got yerself a white knight huh? Ah’m gonna go kill ‘im firs’. Then Ah’m gonna come back for you. Maybe fuck ya, then kill ya.” Kevin hopped from the bed and Samantha coughed up blood and she took in several gasping breathes. “Be right back, Sammy,” he said reaching down to pick up her baseball bat from the floor.  
  
Samantha watched Kevin run at Walter, who sidestepped him easily. Her breath came in shuddering waves and her mind was trying to weave out of consciousness. She heard grunts and swears coming from her living room. ‘Win, Walter, win. Kill him...please.... Kill him,’ she managed to think to herself. She heard the sound of her bat beating in someone’s head and hoped Walter was the one wielding it. As silence fell in the other room, Samantha had nothing else to keep her mind on and it drifted out of consciousness. Her eyes rolled back and she took a great shuddering breath.  
  
“Wake up, Miss Haley,” a gravel voice ordered. Walter shook her shoulders gently. “Samantha!” he shouted. Her eyes snapped open. “I called an ambulance,” he informed her.  
  
She gave a half-hearted laugh. “I won’t...make it down those stairs...and they can’t bring that...thing up.... I’m gonna die in this bed,” she said in a broken voice. Tears rolled from her eyes, turning pink when they met blood.  
  
Kovacs hesitated with thought. There was no other way to do this. “No you won’t.” He cupped one hand under her knees, one under her shoulders and lifted her from the bed.  
  
\- + -  
  
Samantha whipped several tears from her cheeks. “And that’s the last thing I remember. I don’t remember getting down the stairs...or getting here in the ambulance.” She looked to her doctor and the police officer. “Any questions?” she probed.  
  
The two men looked at each other. “No.... I think you’ve answered everything pretty thoroughly.” the officer said. He slid his pen into the spine of his notebook. “We may have a few follow-up questions later down the road, but you’ll be outta here by that time. ...um...take care Miss Haley.” The officer nodded and walked out. Doctor Marks followed suit without saying anything to his patient.  
  
“When can I go home?” Samantha inquired, when he made the door.  
  
Doctor Marks turned back, “Tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
Samantha rolled onto her right side and curled into a ball. It was now late afternoon and all she wanted to do was sleep. She heard her door open but didn’t acknowledge it.  
  
“Miss Haley, are you hungry?” a young female voice asked. Samantha shook her head. “Do you need anything for pain?” Again, Samantha shook her head. “Is there anything else you want, then?” the nurse questioned.  
  
“I wanna go home,” Samantha whispered before drifting off to sleep.


	14. Home Again, Home Agin, Jiggity Jig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Samantha awoke to the gentle rocking of her shoulder. She shook her head as she tried to get her good eye to focus on the shaker.  
  
“Hi, Samantha,” the nurse started. “How are you feeling today?”  
  
A grin graced Samantha’s lips. “Hi, Kelley. I‘m feeling okay. Actually slept well,” she said in a sleepy voice.  
  
“That’s good to hear.” Kelley sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re going home today,” she informed her patient.  
  
Samantha suddenly seemed more awake. “Really?” she questioned, sitting up in bed. “That’s right...Doctor Marks said I would.”  
  
“Yep,” Kelley smiled sadly. “...I.... I heard what happened to you. Doctor Marks was talking about it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday. I really wanted to,” she said hanging her head a little.  
  
“It’s not your fault. It’s Doctor Marks’. I suppose he told no one of the tongue lashing  I gave him then?” Judging from the shocked look on Kelley’s face, he hadn’t indeed. “He got a little rough in handling me, so I threatened him with the IV stand...and that I’d talk to his other female patients to see what sexual harassment suits I could get outta them. Anyways, Doctor Marks has no right to tell other people what happened to me.” Samantha crossed her arms in a huff.  
  
“Maybe your threat was why he told people,” Kelley suggested.  
  
“Harris!” screamed the familiar voice of the doctor. “I thought I said for a week, since you had been trading shifts with so many people.” He entered the room, his hands deep in his pockets and his walk was angry.  
  
“It’s my day off and I’m allowed to do this,” Kelley defended.  
  
“Not according to hospital policy.” His voice was low and threatening.  
  
“Is it hospital policy to blab what happened to a patient when they told in confidence?” Both physicians looked to Samantha. Her half-blind eyes were thin and glaring at her doctor; her arms still crossed.  
  
“I did no such thing,” he said in his own defense.  
  
“How else did I find out about it?” Kelley interjected. Doctor Marks looked between both women.  
  
“She could have told you, just now,” he stated, a smug smile playing on his lips.  
  
“You saw me come in here to wake her. You know she couldn’t have told me that whole story in a mi...,” Kelley paused when Samantha placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Could you give the doctor and I a few minutes alone, Kelley? Get me my things so I can get ready to leave?” Her smile was sweet despite her glaring eyes. Doctor Marks gulped at the anger in them. Kelley nodded saying she’d be back in a few.  
  
“What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“I want your word that you’ll give your two weeks when I leave this hospital today,” Samantha stated plainly.  
  
Doctor Marks looked aghast. “You want my what!?”  
  
“Your resignation. You know you’ve been at this too long when you start harassing patients and blabbing their stories around the hospital. You’re here to take care of them not betray their trust. ...the city does this to good people. I bet you’re an excellent doctor with a great personality and bedside manner. Get your family and get outta New York. Go out to the country or something, just leave.” Samantha waved her hands in a pushing manner. Doctor Marks’s jaw hung open.  
  
“Where do you come off trying to tell me what to do?” he inquired angrily.  
  
“If you don’t leave willingly, I will force you. I wasn’t joking when I said I’d seek out your other female patients. Hell, I bet I could get harassment suits out of most of the nurses here.” The corners of Samantha mouth tried to turn up when she saw the look of utter horror on her doctors face. She could see him calculating the damage in his head, trying to call her bluff.  
  
“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll go file it right now.” He made to leave when she stood from her bed. Samantha walked to him, her right hand extended.  
  
“You make a promise to someone, you shake their hand and look them in the eye,” she stated. He stared at her hand a moment. “I’ll be keeping in touch with Kelley for a little while. I’ll know if you didn’t one way or another.” He sighed in defeat and shook her hand.  
  
“I promise, I’ll file my two weeks and leave New York.” He looked right into her gravely mismatched eyes and she smiled.  
  
“Good to hear. Be well, Doctor Marks,” she said as he left her room. He shoulder checked Kelley as she walked back in.  
  
“...why does he look so grim?” Kelley questioned, handing Samantha her clothes and other personal affects.  
  
“Because he just decided to quit and move outta New York.”  
  
Kelley gasped, “No way!? Really?” She looked out the door to see him on the phone still looking grim. “His wife is gonna be pissed.”  
  
“I don’t care. I bet he was really nice once.” Samantha removed her hospital gown and staring pulling her bloody clothes back on. Her memory flashed with each garment. She shivered as she pulled her jacket on.  
  
“We told your neighbor to bring different clothes, but he never came back.” Kelley pointed out the blood stains. A smirk graced Samantha’s lips.  
  
“That’s Walter for you,” she stated turning to Kelley. “Thanks for all you’ve done for me. I really appreciate it. You know, saving my life and all.”  
  
“I never want to see you here ever again.” Kelley walked forward and gave her patient a small hug. “You want me to call you a cab, it’s pouring out there?” Samantha turned to the window. The rain was coming down in sheets.  
  
“No.... I wanna walk. I’ve been out of it for a while...and I wanna remember what everything feels like.” She walked out of her room with Kelley and they made for the elevator. Nurses and other doctors looked at Samantha; some whispering behind her back. She shuddered at what some of them said, but chose to ignore them mostly. The women stepped onto the elevator and Samantha flipped everyone off as the doors closed.  
  
“What was that all about?” Kelley inquired.  
  
“I don’t like being talked about,” Samantha stated plainly. The two women exited the elevator and walked toward the hospital entrance. Kelley turned to her patient and gave her another hug.  
  
“Listen, you take care of yourself and try not to end up here that seriously injured ever again.” She pulled away to see tears brimming Samantha’s eyes.  
  
“I can’t promise something like that, but I’ll do my best.” Samantha grinned and a few tears streaked down her cheeks.  
  
“I guess that’s the best I can ask for. Try not to catch cold,” Kelley shouted as she jogged toward her car. Samantha waved as she exited the hospital. The rain soaked her clothes and chilled her to the bone as she began to twenty-five block trek home. Her long hair became plastered to her face and body but she completely ignored it, walking like a zombie down the street and with each block, Samantha retreated into her mind. What would her apartment look like? Did someone steal her purse from the stairs? What happened to the couple from New Hampshire? She barely noticed people she bumped into and didn’t hear her name called when she passed Lowell’s Market.  
  
“Samantha!” Lola shouted, jogging to catch her query by the shoulder. Samantha turned in shock, she had no idea she was just eight blocks from home. “Oh...my god, you look like complete shit. Come outta the rain.” Lola tried steering her friend inside the warm walls of the market, but Samantha pulled back.  
  
“No, I’m okay. I like the feeling actually.” Samantha smiled weakly and held her face to the dark sky to prove her point. “Cleansing,” she whispered.  
  
“At least to the door. I don’t want either of us to catch a cold.” When they were under the shelter of the canopy, Lola reached out to hug her friend. Samantha cringed and backed away.  
  
“Where have you been? What happened to you, babe?” Lola asked, her arms falling to her sides.  
  
Samantha’s face twisted as she tried to hold back tears. “Kevin found me...put me in the hospital. I was there for a...for a week. I just wanna get home,” she sighed, exasperation and exhaustion present in her voice. Lola choked back tears of her own before telling Samantha to wait a moment.  
  
“Lowell, I need to pack a bag for Samantha. She’s...uh.... She’s been through the ringer. She might not have any food at home,” Lola shouted, grabbing a plastic bag from her register. Lowell gazed out the windowed door to the drenched hippie on the other side.  
  
“It’s on the house,” he shouted to his employee as he walked to the door. He popped it open ajar and Samantha jumped. “Hey, girl. Don’t worry about this food, okay? I’ll pay for it.”   
  
“No, I can’t let you do that, Lowell. I’ll pay you back, I promise,” Samantha objected when Lola passed the full bag to her.  
  
“I’ll come by later this week, help you out however I can, alright?” Lola said with a small smile. Samantha looked between her two friends.  
  
“You guys are too good to me, thank you,” she smiled, giving each a small hug. She waved as she walked off the last eight blocks home. The rain let up a little when she passed the still tipped trash can. She shivered and jogged to her building. She glanced back at the can, remembering how scared she felt. Samantha shuddered once more as she walked into her building.  
  
Samantha paused at the bottom step, afraid to trek up the stairs and see what disarray her apartment was in. She adjusted the bag of food in her hand and resolved in had to be done. Timidly, she took each step until she was on the landing where her purse emptied its contents. Her purse nor its innards were around.  
  
“A stolen purse on top of everything...how could it get any worse?” she mused before jogging the last couple flights. She stopped at her landing, paralyzed. Her door was open a crack, her keys still dangling from the lock. She walked forward and stopped just shy of her door when Mrs. Shairp’s busted opened.  
  
“Haley!”  
  
Samantha looked up from her keys. Mrs. Shairp’s face was red with anger. “Yes, Mrs. Shairp?” she spoke in a quite voice.  
  
“You’re late on the rent. And ev’rythin’ in that room that needs repairin’, you’re payin’ for it, hear me?” Shairp half-shouted to her tenant. Samantha looked aghast.  
  
“The...the rent!? Repairs!? That’s what you’re worried about!? Not ‘Are you okay, Haley?’, ‘Need help cleaning, Haley?’. No, what you’re worried about is getting your fucking money! That’s all you’re ever worried about!” Samantha punched her door with such force that it bounced back at her after it hit the wall. “You were in that goddamn, stinking apartment of yours listening to me getting beaten within and inch of my life and you didn’t do a thing to help!”  
  
Shairp’s mouth hung open. “...I.... I wasn’t home. Neither were my kids.”  
  
“Bullshit.” Each syllable sounding like a threat as they left Samantha’s clenched jaw. “I know you were in there. Despite my heartbeat being in my ears the whole fucking time, I heard you moving around. Heard you tell your children to ‘Shad’p.’” Samantha took several heavy steps toward her landlord, who was cowering away from her tenant.  
  
“I...I...,” Shairp stuttered.  
  
“You want your fucking money.” Samantha stormed into her apartment ignoring everything around her and walked to her fridge. She yanked open the cabinet and snagged the coffee can. Samantha ripped out a small handful of bills and counted off the right amount. She left the plastic bag along side the can on the counter and trudged back out. Samantha threw the money at her landlord.  
  
“There is your goddamn money. For last month and for this month. But I want your word; if it’s worth anything, that something like this will never be allowed to happen again. And not just to me, what if next time some crazy asshole comes in and tries to rape and kill your children?” Samantha pointed to Shairp’s kids, who had gathered at the door to watch the commotion.  
  
“Don’t you dare...,” Shairp paused when Samantha raised her hand.  
  
“It could happen. This is New York City after all. Crazy shit happens all the fucking time. You are GOING to put a lock on the front door, a lock that can only be opened by tenants. To ensure that crazy shit like this doesn’t happen to anyone else under your roof, least wise your kids.” Samantha threatened. Shairp stared at the hippie and nodded sheepishly. “Good. I’ll be expecting the key within the week.” Samantha pulled her keys from the lock and slammed her door shut.  
  
Samantha leaned against her door and let loose a shuddering sigh. It had been a long time since she’d screamed at anyone. Suddenly, Samantha was overcome with the driving need for dry clothes. She kept her eyes high, not wanting to see whatever the floor looked like. She reached her dresser and began peeling off wet clothes, throwing them haphazardly into a pile. Samantha pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and grabbed a clean sarong from one the drawers. She tied it around her waist before pulling a peasant blouse over her head. She let her wet hair fall and stick to her back; she’d wash up later.  
  
Samantha glanced at her bed. Her own blood spotted the comforter. She could almost feel his body atop hers as she remembered. Samantha whimpered as a few tears leaked down her cheeks as she ripped the quilt from the queen sized bed. She tossed the comforter atop the wet clothes; she was going to throw them out after she cleaned around the house.  
  
Samantha placed a clean comforter from her closet on the bed before walking to the window. It was still pouring rain outside. She made sure the latch was locked before pulling down the shade. Samantha proceeded to do that same to the other windows, pausing at the window smeared with dried blood. Samantha shook her head trying to get the images out. She yanked the shade down, not wanting to see the stain any longer. She was about to make sure the window to the fire escape was unlocked when she noticed the table by her door. Her purse, all its contents, and her sketchbook were sitting there, almost waiting for her.  
  
A frown tugged at her lips. “He would have gotten here sooner if he hadn’t rescued my things too.” She hated how bitter her voice sounded. She was so grateful he had actually shown up to save her life, knowing how much he disliked her gender, but part of Samantha couldn’t help but be bitter...even angry with Walter. She glowered at the sketchbook, he’d have saved her before any major damage was done if he hadn’t saved her things. Samantha got so angry she punched the window to the fire escape, cracking the glass and bloodying her knuckles.  
  
Tears clouded Samantha’s vision as she pulled her eyes away from her rescued belongings and walked into her kitchen, locked the last window before replacing the coffee can above her fridge. She hadn’t counted it in some time and thought she ought to before the end of the week. She needed to make sure she had enough for whatever repairs the apartment might need. Then Samantha opened her cooler and was greeted with a spoiled smell. She pulled the trash can over and just started throwing any spoiled items away.  
  
When she finished, Samantha began placing the new items in their respective places; wiping tears from her cheeks every now and again. She was trying to stall as much as she could. She really didn’t want to see the rest of her apartment. She tied off the garbage bag and decided to throw it out later. Samantha took a few hesitant steps toward the exit to her living area. She knew about the glass from the coffee table, but what other sights awaited her half-blind eyes, she wondered. Samantha placed a hand on the door jam to steady herself and took a great breath before rounding the corner.  
  
A massive blood stain coated the floor; just shy of the door to her bedroom, the splintered baseball bat still sitting in it. Samantha couldn’t look away. Her eyes danced around the room as she began to replay the fight in her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a strangled cry escaped her throat. Strength left her legs and Samantha collapsed against the wall; sliding slowly to the floor. Her breath came in shuddering waves as sobs racked her body. Samantha closed her eyes and slid closer to the floor, her left arm pinned beneath her, her knees curling to her chest and her wet hair draped over her limbs like a chilled blanket. Samantha opened her eyes, still unable to look away from the stain of blood engrained into her floor. She could almost seeing Kevin lying there.  
  
She covered her mouth and could imagine him looking at her with a bludgeoned, bloody, swollen face and dead eyes saying she did this to him. She closed her eyes and beat her hand against her temple, trying to get the ghastly image out of her head. She opened her eyes and could no longer see Kevin staring at her. Slowly, Samantha’s sobs turned to whimpers and her eyes closed again, this time in sleep.


	15. Clean Up, Clean Up, Everbody Do Your Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1972~

Walter Kovacs trudged up the seven flights of stairs. The night had been unusually long; filled with many deserving retribution, he hadn’t been able to stop by the hospital to check how Samantha was. When he’d last looked in she was still asleep. Something he was finding himself actually thankful for. The past week, Walter had spent many a night on the rooftop opposite her hospital room, hoping she’d wake up and smile at him. Though the snake in the pit of his stomach wasn’t happy. It hissed at him constantly, telling him truths he’d rather leave buried.  
  
Walter shook his head as he reached the top landing. His eyes wandered the hallway, expecting to find the glimmer of Samantha’s keys, but they were gone and the door was finally closed. He cocked his eyebrows and walked to his apartment. He opened the door and tossed his trench coat inside, unable to peel his eyes away from her door.  
  
Something shifted from Mrs. Shairp’s apartment and Walter walked to the landlord’s door and knocked. There was a rush of movement from inside the apartment, some hushed voices, then a bang as a door was slammed shut. Someone on the other side rattled the locks, trying to get tired fingers to unlock the door.  
  
The door opened wide and Mrs. Shairp stood before Walter; curlers in her hair, make-up smeared over her wide face, and an angry looked carved on her face. “Kovacs. You have any idea what fuckin’ time it is?” she asked in her harsh voice.  
  
“Was wondering if Miss Haley had returned?” he asked, dodging her question. Mrs. Shairp shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.  
  
“Do you know what time it is?”  
  
“Her door is closed and her keys are missing. Is she home?”  
  
“It’s almost four in the gawddamn morning’, Kovacs. Go sleep in yer own bed.” Mrs. Shairp tried closing the door, but Walter put his hand against the wood, propping it open.  
  
“Is she home?” he asked once more, his voice hard and like a threat.  
  
“Oh...yah, she’s home,” Shairp huffed, shifting her weight again. “You can expect a new house key sometime mid-week. Good night, Kovacs.” Shairp pushed the door and Walter let his hand fall away. He heard the locks get replaced and thought his landlord was acting rather odd. Kovacs dismissed the strange actions and walked silently to Samantha’s door. His hand hovered over the wood, unsure whether to knock or not. He listened intently for signs of life and only heard whimpers.  
  
‘ _Weak woman,_ ’ the snake hissed. Walter ignored it and knocked lightly on the door. No movement came from inside. Kovacs looked at the handle and thought to himself, ‘ _She wouldn’t leave it unlocked...would she?_ ’ He grabbed the handle and turned it. He rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open. ‘ _She would._ ’  
  
Walter stepped into the apartment and saw Samantha on the floor. She looked in a pained sleep. Her brow was furrowed, she was shivering, and the occasional whimpered escaped her lips. Kovacs closed and locked the door behind him, making sure no maniacs found their way in this time.  
  
Walter took in the sight of the whole room. When he’d run in to save Samantha, he hadn’t noticed the glass scattered on the floor or the break in the fire escape window...but judging from Samantha’s bloody knuckles, that may have been more recent. Kovacs stepped lightly and knelt next to the ginger hippie.  
  
“Kevin...stop...,” she murmured in her sleep. Walter found himself frowning. ‘ _Of course those memories would invade her dreams,_ ’ he thought. Samantha gave a great shiver.  
  
“Ought to get her somewhere more comfortable,” Kovacs muttered to himself. He shook her shoulder gently but Samantha didn’t rouse. Her body tried shifting into a more comfortable position and bury her face into the wood floor. He looked around the living room, the couch was still overturned and would take some time to clean the glass from its fabric. He shook her shoulder again, she still didn’t wake. Her hair was still wet and he knew she would have several broken ribs.  
  
Walter cast his eyes to her bedroom. The bed had fresh linens on it, though its stuffed animals were strewn over the floor. Kovacs looked back down at Samantha, he didn’t want to wake her really, but it would make this easier on him. He shifted his weight and pulled the artist away from the wall. She groaned with the movement but didn’t wake up. Walter rolled her onto her back and cupped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders.  
  
Her damp hair clung to her frame as he walked her to the bed. Walter slid Samantha from his arms and rested her on the bed. She stretched a little and settled, again, on her left side, this time allowing her left hand to hang over the edge of the bed. Walter leaned over the hippie and pulled the warm comforter over her figure. She whimpered and held her right arm close to her chest, as if holding something. Walter scanned the floor. The first stuffed toy he saw was a grey donkey with a pink bow on its detachable tail. He plucked the ass from the floor, lifted her right arm a little, and placed the donkey beneath it.  
  
Immediately, Samantha hugged the stuffed animal, nuzzling her face in its soft fur. Walter grinned, she seemed calmer now. He made to leave when her free hand grasped his. She may have been asleep, but her grip was fierce, as though she was afraid of loosing what she was holding. Walter tried to pull his hand from hers, but gave up when she seemed even more calm. Her brow was no longer furrowed, her whimpering and shivering had died down.  
  
Kovacs huffed a sigh as he gave in. He reached over Samantha and snagged one of the free pillows from the other side of the bed. He tossed it on the floor in front of the nightstand and sat down. He rested his arm on his knee and watched as a small smile tugged at Samantha’s sleeping lips.  
  
“Sleep well, Miss Haley,” Kovacs said in a tired voice. It was before long that his chin rested against his chest in sleep.  
  
\- + -  
  
Samantha awoke with a start with no knowledge of who she was, where she was, and whom she was holding hands with. She released the man’s hand and sat up in the bed. She sniffed the air and caught a hint of mildew. The wet clothes in the corner caught her attention and after the several moments of disorientation, Samantha came flooding back into herself.  
  
“Oh god...that’s right,” she whispered, bringing her right hand to her face; letting the stuffed jackass fall to the floor. Samantha looked to her nightstand and finally saw Walter. She smiled a little, wondering why he’d stayed. She tossed her covers and suddenly realized, she didn’t know how she’d gotten into her bed. “How...?” She cast her mismatched eyes at her neighbor. A rust smell began to permeate the air and she barely caught a whiff of it when she said, “I’m gonna throw up.” She rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved.  
  
After several minutes of trying to vomit nothing, Samantha’s dry heaves stopped. She flushed the bile and shakily stood at the sink. She turned the cool water on and let it run several minutes before splashing her face and neck. Almost instantly she felt better. She looked at herself in the mirror. Samantha had gotten so used to her eyes the way they were...now they were so different...a permanent reminder of Kevin Mackey. She turned off the water and left the bathroom.  
  
Walter was still asleep and Samantha didn’t want to wake him. She gathered the wet clothes and bloodied bed linens and walked them into the living room, dropping them at the fire escape window. She looked around...she had a lot of work to do. Samantha walked in her kitchen, grabbed the food filled trash bag, and tossed it next to the clothes. Samantha reached under the sink and snagged the whole box of trash bags, she was going to need them. She pulled the broom and dustpan from the wall near the fridge and walked out to her living room. She checked the clock on the wall.  
  
“Eleven in the morning...I’ll be at this all day,” she said with a sigh.  
  
\- + -  
  
A repeating sound slowly pulled Walter into the world of the waking. Someone was grunting in the next room. Kovacs lifted his head and cracked his neck. He was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in. His legs protested as he stretched them before him. His hand was empty so he cast his eyes to the bed. Samantha wasn’t there and the donkey was discarded on the floor.  
  
A sob drew his attention to the living room and he saw a large pile of trash bags by the wall. ‘ _She must have been cleaning all day,_ ’ he thought. His legs protested still as he tried to get up. Kovacs stood to his full height and stretched. Everything cracked and felt much relief. He picked the grey ass up from the floor and replaced it on the bed; leaning him against the pillow.  
  
He walked to the threshold and looked around. All the glass had been swept, the couch was righted, and the windows had been washed. A sob brought his attention to his right. Samantha was on her knees trying to scrub the dried blood from the wood grain. He frowned, she was frustrated it wasn’t coming out. Walter knelt next to Samantha and wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, try and comfort her, then he realized...he didn’t know how.  
  
“Samantha,” he said softly.  
  
“He won’t come out.” Her voice was strained as if she’d been screaming all day. “He won’t come out. I don’t want him here,” she whimpered. Scrubbing harder. Walter had never seen anyone like this. Samantha was completely disheveled. Her hair was tied messily in a ponytail, her sarong and blouse were soaked, and her hands were pruning from the water.  
  
“Samantha, stop,” Walter said quietly, this time placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Dammit!” Samantha screamed and hurled the scrub brush at the wall, which bounced back. Sobs began to wrack her frame and for the first time in his life, Walter Kovacs pitied a woman. She hadn’t asked for this to happen.  
  
“You’ll...,” Walter tried to find the right words. “...you’ll make it through....” The words sounded foreign in his mouth. “You’re...you’re strong and you’ll make it through this.” The snake hissed at him, ’ _That’s a lie, she’s weak and will always be weak._ ’ He shook his head and ignored it. “You’ve made it through before.”  
  
Samantha looked Walter in the eyes and he was taken aback. Her eyes were severely mismatched now and it made her look...made her look even more fragile. Tears streamed down her face as Samantha leaned towards Walter, wrapped her soggy hands around him, buried her face in his chest and just cried.  
  
Walter looked down at her. What was he supposed to do? He was too violent for this sort of thing, but some deep part of him moved his arms for him. It placed one arm on her back; gripping one shoulder, and placed the other on her head; stroking her hair.  
  
‘ _Weak...and now so are you.... Fierce no longer. Kovacs. Fierce no longer,_ ’ the snake whispered to him, curling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Walter ignored it again and began rocking slowly back forth. Samantha continued to sob. For the longest time they just stayed that way.


	16. All Herein Belongs to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1973~

_I can’t believe some of the tenants are still pissed at me about the extra lock on this hellhole. Remember your keys then, assholes! I mean, it’s been eight months since we got the lock, you should remember your keys by now.  
  
I’m pretty snippy today...I’m sorry. I know he’s dead and all, but I still have nightmares about Kevin. Strange how one man can impact your life huh? I think Walter’s getting annoyed with that fact too. He makes time to visit, if you can believe it...but he rolls his eyes every time I bring up my nightmares. Like I should be over this already. I mean...._  
  
Samantha perked up when a foreign sound caught her attention.  
  
 _I think...somebody’s here. I gotta go._  
  
Samantha placed her diary and pen on the bed and walked to the door. She reached for her replacement bat, lifting it high as she reached for the handle. She paused when it started turning from the other side. She shifted against the wall and held the bat steady, ready to swing when the door opened. Samantha gave a yell as she swung the bat. Walter caught it without much trouble, though his hand would be hurting later.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Kovacs! How many times do I hafta tell you to knock?” She released the bat and eased passed her neighbor to her living room. The fire escape window was left wide open, the crack still fracturing the glass. Walter rested the bat against the doorframe. He wasn’t really sure why he still visited, she seemed well enough and they rarely talked about anything other than Kevin Mackey. Samantha slammed the window closed, but didn’t lock it.  
  
“Did knock, you didn’t answer,” Walter stated, massaging the palm of his hand.  
  
“Oh...guess my mind was somewhere then. Sorry. Need ice for that?” Samantha pointed to his hand as she walked into the kitchen.  
  
“Find like this.” Walter placed both hands in his pockets as he sat on the arm of the chair. He looked to his right; where the blood stain should be, she’d placed an out of place area rug and an end table with several sketchbooks atop it. Walter shook his head, ‘ _She’s still afraid of it._ ’  
  
“Something wrong, Walter?” she asked exiting the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand and a handful of sugar cubes. Samantha handed most of the cubes to her neighbor. Kovacs shook his head, not wanting to speak his mind just yet. He watched Samantha shiver as her eyes passed over the rug. He rolled his eyes and popped a bit of sugar in his mouth.  
  
“I still dream about him, you know.” Samantha started in on her latest dream about Kevin Mackey and Walter tuned her out.  
  
‘ _Eight months and she’s not over it,_ ’ he thought to himself.  
  
‘ _Maybe she feels guilty that you killed him. Maybe it was something she planned. Maybe she wanted him to do it to her. Ever think of that, Kovacs?_ ’ the snake mused. Tired of hearing what Samantha had to say, Walter reasoned the snake was right.  
  
“It.... It still...terrifies isn’t the right word, but scares doesn’t work either.” Samantha wiped several tears from her cheeks.  
  
‘ _She’s a weak woman controlled by useless emotions, be done with her._ ’ the snake hissed angrily.  
  
“But I was hoping you’d come by tonight. I, um...I wanted to tell you something. Um...who knew it would be so hard. Um, everything.... If something really bad were to happen to me, I...I want you to know that everything in this apartment belongs to you. Everything. The cans of money over the fridge, the years diaries under my bed. There’s lots that none of your friends...fellow heroes are, uh...nothing they want known by the rest of the world.” Samantha wiped a few more tears from her cheeks and collected herself before continuing.  
  
The snake jumped into Walter‘s throat and spoke for him, “Didn’t want anything known by you in first place.” Samantha looked at him looking wounded by the harsh tone in his voice.  
  
“I know.... I’m nosy and curious like Alice. And I’ve tumbled down that rabbit hole and...I’ve not even tried to escape all the madness there. The diaries under the bed and the closet has a false back, it’s my dark room.” She looked at her wall of hero worship. “It has got tons of pictures that never made this wall. And the wall is also yours...even though I know what you’ll probably do with it,” Samantha paused, once again trying to gather herself. “In case I die, I wanted you to know that all herein belongs to you.” Her voice cracked.  
  
“Hurm.”  
  
Samantha looked up in surprise. “What? You’re smirking...what do you find so funny?”  
  
“You.” The snake was speaking for Walter but he didn’t try fighting it, he had a lot of things he wanted to say.  
  
“What do you find so funny about me?”  
  
“You’re just like every other woman out there. Weak after all. Controlled by emotions, un-needed emotions, useless. Befriended me for one reason, you always knew he was coming for you. Needed some knight to safe you from a fight you didn’t even try to win. Did you let him know the right time to come for you? When you were sure that I’d follow?” Walter didn’t realize he had stood and was now pacing around the living, ranting all his thoughts. “Didn’t even fight back did you?” Glass hit the floor and shattered. Walter turned to Samantha, she looked aghast, both her fists were clenched, and her eyes were angry.  
  
“Is that really what you think? You think it was some kind of a ploy, a GAME!? You caught me!” She raised her hands in the air like the field goal symbol. He didn’t catch that her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I knew I’d find someone here who could beat up, kill Kevin Mackey. And I spent the better part of ten years trying to befriend that one person I knew could.... Oh my god, that IS what you believe. How could you even think that of me!?”  
  
“Because you’re a woman,” he stated plainly.  
  
Samantha was stunned. “I...I don’t believe. You...you think...I laid there and took it? That I.... That I let him beat within and inch of my life...for what? To sell a con?” Samantha’s voice was shrill and she took several steadying breathes. “The fact that there was real terror on my face...didn’t tip anything off to you? After all this time...you think...I’m...the average whore?” Her voice cracked again making Kovacs scowl. “Oh my god...,” she whispered to herself. Her mismatched eyes danced around the room as if retracing the steps of the attack.  
  
Samantha stood, rage filling her suddenly. “You really think I laid there and let him break five of my ribs, permanently blind me in one eye, make my left hand almost useless, and have him leave me with permanent reminders of what he did to me!? All to sell a fucking CON!?” Her voice was shrill again.  
  
“Like I said, useless emotions,” Kovacs half-smiled. Samantha was stunned. He really believed what he was saying about her was true. In that moment she thought something that needed to be done.  
  
She turned from her neighbor and spoke in a firm voice, “Get out of my home.” Samantha turned back to him. “Don’t understand the words coming out of my mouth Wal...Kovacs? I said, get the fuck out of my home.” He still didn’t move. “LEAVE! Do not make me make you leave. You know I’m not afraid to do that.” She walked to her door, unlocked all the locks and held it open for him. “Don’t you look at me like I’ve got three fucking heads, that’s my job right now. Get the hell outta my place.”  
  
Finally Walter’s body seemed under his control again and he made to leave. He had barely exited the apartment when she slammed the door. Kovacs heard each locked barricade the door.  
  
“Hurm,” he grunted. He walked down the hall to the stairs and jogged down them. He wanted to get as far away and make as many people hurt as he possibly could tonight.  
  
Samantha watched Walter walk into the night, tears slipping down her cheeks, her brow furrowed in thought. Samantha made sure every window; including the one to the fire escape, was locked and pulled all the shades down. She sat on her bed and shivered as she picked up her diary and pen. She opened up to her last unfinished entry.  
  
 _...I don’t wanna do this to him, it’s gonna hurt, but...he NEEDS to be taught this lesson. God...the next few days are gonna be rough on the both of us.  
  
February the ninth, nineteen seventy-three. Samantha_


	17. A Matter of Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1973~

_February 10_  
  
Walter massaged his sore shoulder as he walked the seven flights to his floor. He’d been so angry about last night that he put six Katies, five Knot-Tops, and two muggers in the hospital. Only three of them were severe cases, though one of the muggers would never walk again.  
  
Kovacs pulled his keys out when he reached his door. He turned, half-expecting to see Miss Haley poking her head out, glowering at him, but still saying hello. He turned his key and still she wasn’t there.  
  
“Hurm,” he grunted and entered his apartment. For some reason, he felt strange as he closed his door. He had felt this way; in relation to Samantha, several times before but had no idea what he was feeling. Discarding the feeling, Walter waded through the piles of papers on his floor to his bed. He laid down and closed his eyes, seeing her sad face for a moment and the feeling came back stronger than before. He grunted, rolled over and fell into a restless sleep.  
  
\- + -  
  
Walter awoke with a start. He looked at the clock, two in the afternoon. His stomach growled at him for food. He sat up and rubbed the last bits of sleep from his eyes. Thunder clapped and a streak of lightning lit the sky. They were having strange weather for early February. The papers were calling it an ‘Indian Summer, it won’t last too long.’ Yesterday it had been in the sixties. Today had the right warmth and humidity for a thunder storm.  
  
Walter walked to his window and looked outside. The snow was melting and flooding the gutters, making the drains clog and flood some streets. A sea of umbrellas waked the sidewalks.  
  
Kovacs turned from the window and grabbed one of his warmest coats. He bundled himself up as he exited his apartment. He closed his door and turned, still expecting to see Samantha there. Again, she didn‘t show her face to wish him a calm day. It was puzzling, she’d shown up even after he’d dislocated her shoulder; which he considered more painful than anything he’d said last night.  
  
Walter jogged down the stairs, nearing colliding with two people as he exited the building. He began walking towards downtown when he looked up to Samantha’s apartment. All the shades were down and he couldn’t tell if the lights were on or not. He watched her windows for a few minutes, but she didn’t show herself. He huffed and walked off. He put seven more people in the hospital that night.  
  
 _February 11_  
  
Walter left early the next morning, the Indian summer was still in effect and was making people a little crazier then the snow that usually blanketed the ground. After he closed his door Kovacs waited seven minutes for Samantha to say hello. When she didn’t show her face he though about knocking, but then thought better of it. She was obviously angry with him, though he didn’t really know why, but found himself hoping to see her while she sketched today.  
  
He cast his eyes back at her windows and they were still dark. Maybe she’d gone to see a friend and hadn’t come home yet, he mused.  
  
‘ _Why do you even care?_ ’ the snake inquired angrily. Walter shrugged absentmindedly.  
  
\- + -  
  
‘ _She wasn’t sketching again. Wonder if something’s wrong._ ’ Walter thought to himself as he came home early for a nap before doing hero work. He stopped outside her door and just stood there. Wanting to knock and see her face, even if she was angry with him.  
  
He sniffed the air and smelt matches and lavender candles. At least she was home. So why wasn’t she saying hello? Twenty minutes later, Walter walked into his own apartment and fell again into a restless sleep.  
  
\- + -  
  
Kovacs awoke just before midnight. “Overslept, dammit.” He launched out of bed and yanked his window up. The crisp air felt more like early September rather than mid February but felt good on his skin. It cooled his temper as he trudged the gravel roof to the fire escape on the other side. He jumped silently to the wrought iron walk and looked at the black windows of Samantha Haley’s apartment.  
  
“Probably asleep...wouldn’t hurt to check,” he said and placed the flats of his hands against the window, trying to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. He checked and found it locked. Walter was shocked, so many years she’d left it unlocked for him and now she was shutting him out. Then he thought about what he was doing.  
  
“...what the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered aloud.  
  
‘ _I was wondering the same thing. There are deserving out, put her out of your mind and get them. Nite Owl is waiting,_ ’ the snake pointed out, suddenly pulling Walter out of his head and into reality again.  
  
 _February 12_  
  
Walter paused as he reached for the lip of the roof. The window was still locked and the shades still down. Samantha was going through great lengths to ignore him. He thought about breaking the glass, but the snake hissed at him to get some sleep and pulled himself up to the roof. He kicked the gravel as he walked, he still couldn’t figure out what was making her so angry.  
  
Kovacs let himself down to his still open window. A chill wind ran up his back. The Indian summer was over and snowflakes began flying through the air again. He slammed the window shut and flopped on his bed.  
  
‘ _Why are you thinking about her?_ ’ the snake questioned.  
  
“I’ve done something she doesn’t like...and I don’t understand,” he answered aloud.  
  
‘ _Why worry about a woman? Stuck her nose where she wasn’t wanted in the first place. Should have taken the opportunity and yanked her down the seven stories,_ ’ it spit.  
  
“I don’t.... I don’t want to hurt her anymore. I’ve done enough of it.” Walter curled himself into a ball, slipped his covers over his body and drifted into sleep.  
  
\- + -  
  
Kovacs rolled over and checked the clock. It was just after noon. He stretched all his muscles; cracking several joints along the way, before changing his clothes.  
  
‘ _Get over it!_ ’ the snake yelled. It was tearing up his insides so much he didn’t feel hungry. Walter walked passed his fridge and exited his apartment. Her door was closed and he couldn’t smell the candles anymore. He waited ten minutes, when she didn’t come out to say hello, he walked on, feeling worse than he had when he woke.  
  
Samantha’s door cracked open when Walter laid his hands on the railing. He turned, shocked that she was home. The lavender candle smell wafted into the hallway. Walter did his best to keep the smile from his face. For a long moment the two neighbors stood in silence.  
  
Her eyes were puffy and red, like she’d been crying but when she spoke her voice was steady, “Have a calm day...Mr. Kovacs.” She didn’t smile. She adjusted the shawl on her arms and closed the door before Walter could say anything.  
  
He stood there with his mouth open a little wanting to say something anything to the woman no longer there. Something tugged at his insides; and it wasn’t the uneasy snake in his gut.  
  
‘ _GET OVER IT!_ ’ the snake screamed again. Walter closed his mouth and jogged down the stairs, trying to get as far away as fast as possible. He walked downtown, wearing little protection against the coming storm.  
  
\- + -  
  
Hours later the storm let up a little and Walter walked out from under a movie theatre awning just across from the Gunga Diner. She didn’t show up to work again. He stood ankle deep in the snow and watched where she would normally sit.  
  
‘ _She comes out in all weathers...why isn’t she here?_ ’ he thought to himself.  
  
‘ _Who the fuck cares?_ ’ the snake spit angrily. It coiled in his stomach trying to upset him, but Walter ignored it. ‘ _Those deserving will be out soon. Get dressed, get out there. Quit worrying about a woman!_ ’ it hissed.  
  
‘ _...I don’t want to do this...tonight. I want to sleep. Get clear...eat something._ ’ He thought. The snake twisted, almost making Walter vomit.  
  
‘ _She’s made you soft, Kovacs! There was never a time where you didn’t want to do this! Not after Kitty. If you stay in tonight, what happens if someone ends up like her!?_ ’ the snake coiled tightly, ready to attack if Walter continued to defy it. He stared at her spot a little longer before walking down the nearest alley to get to his belongings. He felt the snake settle.  
  
“It always come down to what if...doesn’t it?” he mused aloud, pulling his mask, coat, and journal from a trash can.  
  
The snake smiled devilishly. ‘ _Always._ ’ Rorschach broke three jaws and sent four people to the hospital that night.  
  
 _February 13_  
  
Walter woke in a cold sweat. His dreams had been abnormally dark. They were all about his hands around Samantha’s neck until her eyes rolled back and her body stopped fighting. He shuddered as he placed his head in his hands. He was terrified, those dreams weren’t really his, they belonged to the snake.  
  
He heard a door open outside his own and knew Samantha was going out. Walter decided to head out now, he needed to cool off anyway. He picked up a towel and wiped himself dry before changing. He opened the fridge and snagged a bagel as he slipped his winter jacket on. He grabbed one of his ‘The End Is Nigh’ signs and walked out, hastily shoving the bagel in his mouth.  
  
He saw her footprints in the fresh snow. It was still too warm for mid February, but there was a distinct chill in the air. Winter would not be forgotten, neither would the snake.  
  
‘ _Stop following her. She doesn’t want to see you. Stop following HER!_ ’ it spat. Walter stopped dead in his tracks. All Walter wanted to do was punch his stomach, quell the ache the snake made. ‘ _Leave it be._ ’ the snake ordered. Suddenly, Walter’s face became stern.  
  
‘ _Shut up._ ’ The snake looked at him, not believing what it was hearing.  
  
‘ _What? Think she’s an answer? Women are never the answer. Never. You know that better than anyone. She’ll break you...she already has. And then she’ll break your heart, Kovacs. Leave it where it is._ ’ The snake coiled deep in Walter’s gut.  
  
‘ _Stay there,_ ’ he ordered. He built a box around the snake and closed it inside.  
  
‘ _You’ll be sorry,_ ’ it whispered as he walked on.  
  
Walter held the sign high on his shoulders muttering how the world was going to end soon to those that passed him. He stopped by Bernie and bought a New Frontiersmen. He heard a laugh and looked up to the corner to find Samantha sitting there, sketching a laughing couple. She was smiling at them, he grinned and hoped she’d turn his way.  
  
He watched her stop mid-sentence and look his way, the smile slowly fading from her face. When her eyes settled on him, a frown tugged at her lips, threatening to make her cry. Her brow furrowed in sadness and she tore her eyes from him.  
  
His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in shock. “She.... She didn’t smile. She smiled at them...not at me. What did I do?” Walter walked away, dragging the sign behind him. Several people cursed at him after nearly tripping over the doomsayer. What had he done to be punished so? He didn’t understand.  
  
‘ _Told you she’d break your heart, Kovacs,_ ’ the snake teased. Walter shut him back in his box and kept trudging around Time Square. He walked home and just sat on his bed for hours. Walter heard commotion on the stairs and got up. He looked through the peephole and saw Samantha opening her door after a long days work. He turned back to his clock, ten thirty in the evening. He couldn’t stand it any longer. Walter yanked open his door, bracing one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door; using it to steady himself.  
  
Samantha turned at the noise. Her nose was red from the chill outside, her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She looked him up and down, he was wrecked. It had worked...she hoped. “Yes?” she prompted.  
  
“What’s wrong with me?” he questioned, trying to keep his voice from cracking.


	18. Nothing's the Matter With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1973~

Samantha bit her lip. “You’d...um.... You’d better come inside.” She motioned Walter in but he didn’t move.  
  
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked again.  
  
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Come inside, please. I’ll...I’ll explain everything,” her voice was pleading and her eyes were brimming with tears. “Please, Walter, please.” He thought a moment. “Come in when you’re ready then.” She left her door open and walked into her place.  
  
‘ _Will she have the all the answers?_ ’ he thought to himself. The scent of matches caught his attention. He pulled his door closed as he walked to her threshold. Samantha was lighting candles all over her apartment.  
  
“What is wrong is wrong with me?” he inquired a third time. Samantha turned back to him, wiping a few tears from her face.  
  
“Will you at least sit down?” She gestured to the chair before her. “Please? I promise, I’ll tell you everything.” Walter looked at the chair, almost afraid to hear what she had to say. “They’re called emotions, Walter. It’s just...you don’t know how to feel them,” her voice cracked. Kovacs looked at the hippie in mild shock. Could the answer truly be that simple? He pushed her door closed and made to sit in the chair.  
  
Samantha sat on the couch across from Walter. She took a deep, steadying breath before diving into her explanation. “There’s nothing’s the matter with you. Nothing, Walter. Do you know what they mean though?” Walter shook his head. “You’re human after all. Human just like everybody else. And you have the same stupid...useless emotions as everyone else. You just don’t know how to feel them. Do you understand?” Again, Walter shook his head. He had no idea what she was talking about.  
  
“Walter...you couldn’t go two days without wanting to see me. Two days. Two, Walter. You wanted to see me, you needed to see me. And then you did see me and it was...utter disappointment, wasn’t it? I didn’t smile, I barely said hello to you. I saw the look on your face today. I’m sorry...but I had to,” she said as her breath hitched in her chest. She was trying not to break down and cry.  
  
Kovacs looked at her in mild disbelief. “Had to?” he asked. “What do you mean had to?”  
  
“Your character flips often, I had to.... I had to teach you...a lesson. Emotional mostly, but you needed to learn...there’s so much you understand, I know that...but when it comes to matters of the heart...you know almost nothing. When it comes to dealing with emotionally unstable people, you don’t know how. It’s like seeing a homeless person on the street. You pity them and want to give them money, but you know exactly what there going to do with it. They’re gonna go get drunk...it leaves you in a moral dilemma. Only you’re not dealing with the homeless...you’re dealing with the world, and you have...no idea how,” Samantha paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
“Not really.... I know you’re saying I’m an emotional cripple. But I don’t know what you were trying to teach. I don’t know what I said to make you do this.” His voice cracked but was sincere.  
  
“You really don’t,” she half-smiled. “You called me weak, Walter. I know it’s been some months since it happened...since Kevin happened. But people don’t just spring back to themselves the next fucking day. I’m not you.” Her voice shuddered and she looked away from Walter a moment.  
  
“I can’t just forget that it happened,” she half-shouted. “I let my guard down...I thought I was actually safe here. But I should’ve known.... Should’ve known he’d never stop looking for me until he found me...or he died. I should have...should have killed him years ago and then I wouldn’t have had to look over my shoulder for so many years...and then it would’ve been okay to let my guard down,” she paused and looked Walter in the eyes. In some part of him, what she was telling him actually scared him. Why was she telling him this and what lesson did she teach him?  
  
“You called me a weak woman...ruled over by useless emotions.... But you...you couldn’t go two days without wanting to see my face. What does that tell you?” she whispered. “I’ve gone weeks and sometimes even months without seeing yours. And I still can...if we had one of those boughts again,” she giggled.  
  
“What were you trying to teach me?” Kovacs interrupted.  
  
“That you feel those...useless emotions too. And that you can be controlled by them, just as easily as I can,” Samantha stated. Walter looked up at the statement. ‘ _It’s not true,_ ’ the snake hissed from inside his box. ‘ _She fooling you with her siren ways._ ’  
  
“Almost nine years I’ve been pushing into your life. I know...,“ her breath hitched in her chest again. She took another great breath and continued, “...I know it’s thrown you for quite a loop. But there are worse things than having a woman worm her way into your affections...that you didn’t even know you had. For longest time there was only one person you had to care about, you. And then you got into the hero business and suddenly there’s someone else. But...he worms his way in differently. He’s a hero like you...well, no one’s like you. But all ova sudden there’s you AND Nite Owl. And though you may not want to admit it, you do care for him. You visit his home and...annoy the crap out of him, because you don’t how to act with people. And then.... And then there’s me. A girl you tried to ignore...when all I did...all I wanted was for you to say hello back. If you had right away...uh...I can’t even guarantee that none of this wouldn’t have happened. But I doubt I would’ve found out your secret. And I know....” Her voice was strained as she tried to hold back tears. “I know that I would...I would be dead now, if I hadn’t done what I did...if I hadn’t made you care...opened your heart.” Finally Samantha stopped and let a few tears escape her eyes. She wiped them away and looked at Walter. His face was stoic. He hadn’t realized anything until she said it. It was all true.  
  
“I’m.... Actually I should be apologizing to Rorschach. ‘Cause I’m not sorry I did this to you, Walter. I’m sorry for the impact it’s made on him. I really am.... I love you, Walter. I know Rorschach can’t understand that and I know...I know that even if you do love me back...that you can’t tell me. I came to terms with that, oh god, almost six years ago when I first figured out that I loved you.” She smiled as a surprised look crossed Walter’s features.  
  
“The forth...when you made barbeque?” he inquired. Now it was Samantha’s turn for a surprised look. After a moment she smiled.  
  
“I’ll always be here for you, Walter. And remember, should anything happen to me,” she paused.  
  
“All herein belongs to me,” he finished. She smiled at him.  
  
“Welp, I’m hungry, what about you?” Samantha asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.  
  
Walter was taken aback. “How can you just...change subjects like that?”  
  
“Because, I know that there are things that we can’t talk about, things we can never talk about. This lesson was hard...on the both of us, more you than me. I beat it into you, that you have.... No, that you feel emotions. Even if I could help you understand them fully, there’s no way that.... I know that there’s no way it could help. You’re very set in your ways, Walter. And while I may be the thorn in your side, I can’t make you act on them. The point was to show you that you feel them. Guilt, frustration, maybe...maybe even love. I can’t make you act on any of those, only you can do that. And since I’ve said my piece and told you what I’ve done, I’m hungry and I feel like cooking. Are you hungry?” she asked again.  
  
Walter’s stomach growled in answer and he realized for the first time all week that he was in fact hungry. Samantha giggled. “What would you like? I have the ingredients for chicken noodle soup.”  
  
“That sounds...great.” Walter smiled, the first real smile in his whole life. Samantha smiled back before getting up and walking to her kitchen.  
  
‘ _Are you really going to believe the bullshit she’s feeding you?_ ’ the snake inquired.  
  
‘ _It’s not bullshit. You may not feel it, but I do.... She was telling me the truth. Besides, she said she was sorry to you. She shouldn’t have been._ ’ The snake stuck it’s tongue out as Walter slammed the box shut.  
  
“Here you go, Walter.” Samantha passed the glass of milk to her neighbor. He took it with a quiet thanks. She walked back into the kitchen and pressed against the wall. “Time, Samantha. All he needs is time...just give it to him, don’t push. You’ve already done that.” She shook herself out and continued cooking.  
  
A soft THUD made Samantha walk back to the living room. The glass of milk was on the floor. She tiptoed to her neighbor and plucked the glass from the floor. Walter had fallen asleep in the chair.  
  
“I guess he was really tired. Heh.” Samantha placed the glass on coffee table and pulled the blanket from the couch. She unraveled it and wrapped it around Walter, gently tucking it between him and the chair. “I’ll make the soup tomorrow,” she whispered. Samantha grabbed the glass and placed it in the sink. She gathered the vegetables, chicken, and spices and replaced them where they belonged.  
  
She walked through the living room to her bed and yanked the comforter from it. She picked a pillow and the stuffed Eeyore from the floor and walked back into her living room. She placed the pillow and the donkey on one end of the couch and laid down. Her eyelids began to drift closed almost instantly.  
  
“Good night, Walter. Sweet dreams,” she whispered before falling into the throws of sleep.  
  
\- + -  
  
Something sweet smelling pulled Walter into consciousness. He groaned and stretched, tugging the blanket from around his shoulders. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He looked around for the sweet smell and found a steaming cup of coffee and a handful of sugar cubes waiting for him. The sound of music drew his attention to the kitchen, he assumed she was cooking.  
  
Walter picked the mug and several cubes from the table. The first time all week he noticed the shades were up...the sun was setting. Had he really slept the day away? He popped a cube in his mouth and walked to the kitchen. Samantha was pretending to play the guitar along side the song playing on the radio.  
  
She began sing, “ _But you and I, we’ve been through that, And this is not our fate, So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late, HEY!_ ” Samantha played the air rift and dance around like a fool, looking as if she was having a grand time. She kept going with her back to Walter until she screamed along side the singer, “ _ALL ALONG THE WATCH_...tower,” she petered out; dropping her hands and clasping them behind her back as if she’d done something wrong, upon seeing Walter smirk at her. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He shook his head, still smirking. “Oh, good. I’m gonna go die of embarrassment now.” Samantha walked to the radio and turned it down.  
  
“Often spend your afternoons dancing around to songs on the radio?’ Walter asked, taking a seat at the table and sipping from the coffee mug.  
  
“Evening is more like it. It’s half past four. I was going to wake you soon, since I figured you’d want to get out there and...you know, do you your thing, beat the complete shit out of a few people,” Samantha spoke over her shoulder as she stirred a pot full of something that smelled delicious.  
  
“Not sure I’m heading out tonight,” he voiced, taking another sip of coffee. Samantha turned to him with a quizzical look on her face. She took several brisk steps toward him and made the place the back of her hand on his forehead. Walter pulled his head back a little, startled by the movement, but she gently placed her hand on his head; barely touching his skin.  
  
“Well, you don’t have a fever,” she stated, a smile playing on her lips. “And you don’t look sick. So who are you and what have you done with Rorschach?” she questioned playfully, walking back to the stove.  
  
Walter shrugged. “I don’t know. What are you making?”  
  
“The chicken noodle soup I almost started last night, but you fell asleep.” Samantha ladled the soup into two bowls and set them on the table. “Would you like more coffee?” She gestured to his empty mug.  
  
“No,” Walter stated, pushing the mug away and pulling the bowl closer. Samantha passed him a spoon and a buttered piece of bread. The neighbors ate in quite, the only noise coming from the radio.  
  
“What do you think?” Samantha asked, pushing her empty bowl away.  
  
“I don’t hate it,” Walter teased, pushing away his own empty bowl.  
  
“Playing hard to get will only get you so far,” she smirked. Samantha picked up both bowls and the coffee mug and placed them in the sink. She turned the water on and began swaying her hips as she started the dishes. A thought came to Walter as he watched his neighbor. He stood and walked quietly toward Samantha. He tried to recollect what he’d seen many couples do on the street, when they would surprise one another from behind. When he couldn’t think of anything, he let his body move on its own. He took several steps forward and outstretched his arms, leveling them with her hips. He paused, his mind unsure if he really wanted to do this.  
  
Samantha gasped and dropped the mug into the sink. Walter had hugged her around the waist and rested his head against her back. For several moments, she stood tense, almost unable to think.  
  
When her brain suddenly seemed able to work again after a few moments, she tentatively questioned, “Wal...Walter?”  
  
“Hurm?”  
  
“Are...? Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you need anything?”  
  
“Fine like this.” He was listening to her heartbeat; which was going a mile a minute. He was surprised to find her so tense, surely this is what she wanted?  
  
“You’re...you’re sure?” The sound of her smile just barely evident in her voice.  
  
“Yes.” Her heartbeat began to slow and she finally relaxed her body a bit. Samantha turned off the water and dried her hands before resting them on the rough arms around her. She began to hum some tune Walter couldn’t identify and was slowly swaying to and fro with the melody.  
  
Then; as if suddenly finding her voice again, Samantha began to sing softly, “ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make my happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away._ ” She stopped singing and swaying abruptly.  
  
Walter raised his head, a questioning look on his face. “Something wrong?”  
  
“I just realized how silly that song sounds right at the moment, that’s all. The full song is sung about a lover that’s leaving to love someone else. But, when you ignore that, the chorus sounds very pretty and happy.” Samantha turned her head a little to try and look at her neighbor. There was almost a serene...almost normal look about him. She smiled and turned in his arms. Walter stood a little straighter, letting his hands rest on her hips. He suddenly realized he had never touch a woman in this way his whole life, but was amazed at how...natural it felt.  
  
Samantha rested her hands on Walter’s shoulders and he looked up at her, completely unsure of what to do or what was going to happen next. Slowly, Samantha brought her head down, moving closer to him. Her eyes wandering his face; asking for permission, and for a moment, he inclined his head. She moved closer, her hands climbing his neck and cupping his face. When her lips were almost upon his own, Walter suddenly pulled away and backed into the wall.  
  
Samantha automatically put her hands behind her back, like she’d done something wrong. The look on her face surprised Walter though. She looked as if she was waiting for punishment. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry...I’m...I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you’re not ready. I’m sorry,” her voice growing more faint and frantic with each apology.  
  
“No.” Samantha looked at Walter. “I am. Knew what you wanted and...knew I couldn’t. Lead you on. I should go now.” Walter turned to leave.  
  
“Okay, Walter.” Samantha walked to the opening to the kitchen. He was already opening the door. Suddenly she remembered something. “Walter!”  
  
He turned back to her, “Hurm?”  
  
“Um...happy Valentine’s Day,” she smiled, a tear streaking down her cheek.  
  
“Happy...Valentine’s Day, Samantha,” he repeated before leaving. He closed her door gently behind him and made his way down the stairs.  
  
Samantha stared at the door, her eyes brimming with tears. She angrily wiped them away. “Almost,” she whispered.


	19. This is Some Kind of Joke. ...Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1973~

Rorschach stood on the roof of the movie theater across from the Gunga Diner starring down at the ginger artist as she sketched people on the first of April. The weather had turned warm quickly, but there was still a winter chill in the air. He was waiting for Nite Owl to show up so they could start patrolling.  
  
Beneath his mask, Walter smiled as Samantha’s light laugh was carried to him on a winter breeze. The sound of an engine made Rorschach turn to the majority of the roof. With a short jump, Nite Owl landed on the roof with a quick, “Ready?”  
  
Rorschach turned back to the street and saw Samantha looking up at him, her smile taking up her whole face.  
  
“Rorschach?” Nite Owl probed when he reached the edge of the roof. “You okay?”  
  
Rorschach turned back to his partner and nodded. “Better than I’ve been in a while, Daniel. We should get going.” He made to leave but Nite Owl grab his arm.  
  
“You sure, man? You sound...well, you sound almost happy. You been doing work during the day or something?” Daniel asked, a concerned tone in his voice.  
  
“I’m sure, Nite Owl. Why?” Rorschach turned to face his partner full on.  
  
“You’ve had your head in the clouds a little lately and yet...nothing like when you nearly got your head clocked in by a bat. Something’s changed, hasn’t it?” Nite Owl questioned. Rorschach had never discussed his personal life with anyone, even Samantha; but that’s because she pried and found it out herself. He looked to Archie, still hovering above the rooftop. Slowly, Rorschach nodded.  
  
“Something good? Something bad?” Nite Owl inquired slowly. Moving his hands in a weighing motion. Rorschach shook his head in a noncommittal way.  
  
“A little of both...I guess. She’s been going through something rough...,” Rorschach paused when Nite Owl raised in hand.  
  
“She!?” he half-shouted. “You’re.... Are you trying to tell me that you’re somehow involved with a woman?” Nite Owl’s mouth hung open as Rorschach slowly nodded again.  
  
“She’s down there.” He pointed down to the street. Daniel jogged to the ledge and looked down.  
  
“There are a lot of women down there, man. Which one?”  
  
“The ginger. The one with the long hair,” Rorschach added when he joined Nite Owl at the lip and saw two women with red hair below.  
  
“The sketch artist,” Daniel said, his voice deflating a little. He rounded on Rorschach, “An artist, Rorschach?”  
  
Rorschach sat on the ledge, his back to the street. Nite Owl watched as the artist looked up and waved at them.  
  
“She’s genuinely nice, Daniel. One of the last kind souls in this rotten city. Maybe the only one. A little too kind for her own good, but it helps people trust her, even if it ends up hurting her in the end. Her...oddities and scars make her the most human person I’ve ever known. Also makes her....” Rorschach stopped himself from saying she was beautiful. “Knows who you are too,” he added absentmindedly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Knows that Nite Owl and Daniel Dreiberg are the same person. Early on, she followed me around, snapping pictures. Said you two smelled the same. She’s like her own private detective...and very good at what she does. But you did sit for more than one sketch from her.” Rorschach looked to his partner, whose mouth was hanging open.  
  
“Okay, one, I’ve never heard you talk that much at one time. And two, I’ve never known you to have some normal sense of humor. This is some sort of joke, right?” Nite Owl waited for Rorschach to tell him it was some strange April foolery, but the masked vigilante just stared at him. “This isn’t some sort of April Fool’s joke...is it?” Nite Owl fell onto the lip and stared at his partner.  
  
Rorschach thought a moment. “Don’t have that kind of coordination. I didn’t even know it was April first,” he admitted, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.  
  
“She knows?” Dan asked quietly. “How did she find me out?” he questioned, flabbergasted.  
  
“Sketched you once after following us around a little. You have a certain smell, she says. Dust, sulfur, and oil. And has sketched you a few times since then.” Rorschach looked to Nite Owl, whose mouth was open again. “Says they come out a little feathery looking because you always talk about owls. I said, she’s very good at snooping.”  
  
Nite Owl wiped his face in a kind of frustrated manner. “She hasn’t told anyone, has she?” There was a thick amount of concern in his voice.  
  
“No. Papers would have said something if she had. She knows better than that anyhow. Been...been punished once. Dislocated her shoulder,” he added when Dan looked at him questioningly.  
  
“Are.... I can’t believe I’m asking you this question, but...are you in love with her?” His voice was tentative, almost not wanting to know the answer.  
  
“Don’t know, never been before.”  
  
“I think you are. How long has you two been...seeing each other?”  
  
“We’re not.” Rorschach stood and began pacing the roof. “She was just an intrusive girl that wanted to say hello and have me say hello back. She’s been in my life...almost nine years now and...I don’t know.” He stopped pacing and looked at the street. Samantha was exiting the diner and glance his way. The blots even smiled when she waved goodnight to him.  
  
“You’re in love. In your own way, man. The way you talk about her. I mean, I can almost hear the smile in your voice. And your mask...I’ve never seen it make shapes like it was making while you were talking about her. They were smiling, swirling and...I think I may have even, as crazy as it sounds, seen a heart,” Nite Owl giggled.  
  
Rorschach turned his back to his partner and began pacing again. He paused halfway to Archie turned back. “How.... How do you know when you’re in love, Daniel?”  
  
Nite Owl was taken aback by the question. “I’ve never had to think about it. When you think or talk about her, how do you feel?”  
  
“Light...even warm.” His left hand withdrew from his pocket and motioned around his stomach. “Sometimes...what did she call them? Butterflies.” Rorschach turned to face Nite Owl fully and found the later, smiling broadly.  
  
“That’s about what love feels like. This is strange...talkin’ about this kind of stuff with you.” Nite Owl shook his shoulders as if shivering, but the playful smile still lit his face.  
  
“I’m not in the mood for it anymore. Let’s go put some people in the hospital,” Rorschach said, all happiness replaced with his usual stoic tone.  
  
Daniel’s smile faded a little as he stood. “Sure. And hey, Rorschach, congratulations,” he said jogging to catch up with his friend.  
  
“Thank you, Daniel,” Rorschach smiled, boarding Archie and riding off to head out on patrol.


	20. What to Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1974~

The jangling of his doorknob, brought Walter Kovacs from his thoughts and back into the world of reality. He checked his clock, twenty of four in the evening. Walter looked back at the door when someone knocked three times. He stood and walked to the door and opened it. No one was there. He looked across at Samantha’s door and grinned, knowing she had something to do with this disturbance.  
  
Walter glanced down at the handle was found a surprise waiting for him. There was a stocking full to the brim with Hershey Kisses and a quart carton of milk at his feet. He slid the stocking from the doorknob and plucked the milk from the floor. He would take care of this, then see Samantha.  
  
Walter walked to his fridge and placed the milk in the door. He placed the stocking on the bed and turned to leave but stopped halfway to the door. Kovacs looked back at the stocking. Several of the Christmas covered Kisses had spilled out. He’d never been given a stocking like this before and was overcome with curiosity and suddenly had to know what was inside. He dumped the contents of the stocking onto his bed. Red, green, and silver Kisses scattered, a plastic bag of some sort of puffed square, segmented cereal with red, blue, green, and purple circles fell atop most of the Kisses and a small, sweet smelling orange rolled out.  
  
“That’s not what I was expecting.” He looked inside the stocking and found nothing. Walter set the stocking back on the bed, leaving the goodies where they fell. He exited his apartment and knocked on Samantha’s door, it opened almost at once.  
  
“Walter?” her voice was surprised.  
  
“You were expecting someone else?” He failed to hide the disapproving tone from his voice.  
  
“No...I...,” she smiled. “I thought you had left already. You’ve been gone before three thirty almost every night this week. I didn’t think that Christmas eve would be any different. Please, come in.” Samantha opened the door a little wider and allowed her neighbor to pass her.  
  
“But you knocked?” he stated as she closed the door behind her.  
  
“Well...you know, just in case you were home. Want something to drink?” Samantha asked, pointing to the kitchen. Walter looked around the room and noted that the only light in the room was coming from the TV and the Christmas tree by the front door. He looked at Samantha in the light of the tree. She really was very pretty. The lights shown in her smiling mismatched eyes and from somewhere deep inside him, Walter felt a twang of guilt.  
  
Samantha noticed something puzzling on Walter’s features and asked, “Something wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” he lied.  
  
“Okay,” Samantha smiled. “Rudolph is on.” She pointed to her TV. “You wanna watch it with me?” She pushed off the door and made her way towards the couch.  
  
“Daniel is expecting me.” Walter made for the door.  
  
“Please,” Samantha said. “It’s not that long, about forty five minutes, give or take. And Nite Owl’s not expecting you ‘til five. It’s just starting.” She pointed to the TV again and curled her knees to her chest, taking up only one end of the couch. Walter sighed in a resigned kind of way and plopped himself in the armchair. He saw Samantha smile as her eyes focused on the movie, but Walter found he could not do the same. His eyes were fixed on Samantha, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the smile he could only half see. Ten years she’d been in his life and she’d given everything and he; feeling even more guilty as he thought, had given nothing.  
  
“Why did you give me that stocking?” he asked suddenly.  
  
“Oh...um, it was the only thing my mother did that I actually enjoyed. One Christmas Eve she’d always give me and my sister a second stocking filled with Kisses, Cap’n Crunch, and a clementine or two. I guess...,” she paused a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “I guess I just wanted to pass the tradition on.” Both neighbors fell quiet, but he still didn’t look at the movie. In the silence, Walter continued to watch Samantha. This was her tenth Christmas living here and she’d never done anything like this before.  
  
“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Samantha questioned suddenly, startling Walter.  
  
“No, why?”  
  
“Because I have far too much food for one person and I might have just a little too much food with two people. And besides, I have a few gifts for you.” She pointed to the tree and Walter saw three maybe four gifts wrapped in the funny pages from the Sunday newspaper.  
  
“I have nothing for you,” he confessed, feeling more guilty still.  
  
“Walter,” she turned to face him, the broad grin playing on her full lips. “I’m not asking you to get me anything. Your company, would be gift enough.” Walter smiled, trying to hide his guilt.  
  
“Tomorrow then,” he stated. He looked up at the clock next to Samantha’s wall of heroes. “I should go.”  
  
Samantha looked at the clock. “Oh god, yah.” It was twenty of five. She stood and walked to the door after Kovacs. “Walter,” she said, her voice and movements hesitant. She leaned against the door, trying to steady herself.  
  
“Hurm?” He turned to her, standing in the threshold.  
  
“There is...one more thing I wanna give you, before you go,” she stated.  
  
“What?”  
  
Samantha raised her right hand to her lips and kissed her first three fingers. Slowly, she extended her hand out, tentatively, as if reaching out to pet some wild animal she was afraid might bite if she moved to fast. After several moments, she was inches from his lips. When Walter didn’t pull away, she pressed them forward and placed her kiss on his lips, making a soft kissing sound with her own. Samantha let her fingers linger for a moment. Walter sniffed the perfume, she smelt like lavender.  
  
Samantha bit her bottom lip and smiled as she pulled her fingers away and placed them to her own lips. Walter felt stunned. “A kiss?” he questioned. She smiled in answer.  
  
“Thank you,” Walter said. Samantha’s eyes went wide and her smile broadened.  
  
“You’re welcome. Merry Christmas, Walter.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Samantha.”  
  
\- + -  
  
“God, don’t these people ever learn?” Nite Owl gasped for breath as the last goon dropped to the floor.  
  
“Apparently not,” Rorschach mused.  
  
“I mean, who the hell breaks into a Hallmark Store on Christmas Eve?” he ranted, rolling a guy over and cuffing his hands behind his back.  
  
“Not Christmas Eve anymore, Nite Owl,” Rorschach called from one of the stacks of cards and kitsch gifts. The owl looked at the clock behind the register.  
  
“You’re right. Merry Christmas, Rorschach.” He cuffed another unconscious man.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Nite Owl.” Daniel stood stalk straight at the statement. For many years now, Daniel had been wishing Rorschach a ’Merry Christmas’ and for those same years, had never received a response.  
  
“It’s Samantha, isn’t it? She’s really changed you,” Nite Owl said in a bemused sort of way.  
  
“Is that a bad thing?” There was no mistaking the subtle threat in Rorschach’s voice.  
  
“Not at all. What are you doing back there anyway?” Nite Owl tried peering for his partner over the aisles. His questioned was answered when Rorschach walked up to the counter his arms full of stuffed animals and a few journals. “Shopping?”  
  
“For Samantha.” He placed his goods on the counter. “She has several of this one.” He held up a greyed purpled donkey.  
  
“Oh, Eeyore. Like Winnie the Pooh, does she?” Nite Owl walked to the counter and looked at his partners loot.  
  
Rorschach was quiet for several moments. “...no idea actually. My guess is yes.”  
  
“Good guess. Hey, don’t set him aside.” Nite Owl reached for the stuffed donkey as Rorschach tossed him.  
  
“Why? Said she has several,” he argued, looking the other stuffed animals over.  
“You’ve never bought gifts for anyone, have you?” Nite Owl guessed. Rorschach looked at him and shook his head. “Okay, it doesn’t matter how many of what she has, if it comes from you, it’ll mean much more. She hasn’t had anyone around in a long time right? So she’s bought everything herself?” This time Rorschach nodded. “Then get her the Eeyore. It’ll mean so much more coming from you.” Nite Owl handed the vigilante the stuffed animal and walked away, letting Rorschach make up his own mind. He grabbed a bag and placed one large teddy bear, one small teddy, the Eeyore, two white journals, and several nice pens inside. “Are you actually gonna buy all that?” Nite Owl inquired.  
  
Rorschach reached into his pants pocket and pulled money out in answer and left it tucked in the register. “Do you have this, Nite Owl?” He motioned to the unconscious men on the floor.  
  
Nite Owl smirked, “Yea, I got this. You go and head back to Samantha.”  
  
Rorschach exited the store through the broken window and walked against the falling snow, the plastic bag of gifts swinging in his hands. He turned down an alley near Lowell’s Market and pulled his mask and fedora off. He pulled a false brick from the wall and placed them inside. He removed another brick and yanked his doomsayer jacket out, replacing it with his Rorschach coat. He replaced both bricks and walked back out into the snow.  
  
Walter completely walked past the market’s store front before deciding to double back. A bag of Hershey Kisses glittered in the window box. He looked up to view the rest of the store and found it open. Walter walked inside and was greeted by Christmas music.  
  
“Hello,” an unfamiliar voice said. Walter turned to find a woman about Samantha’s age and height behind one of the registers. “Merry Christmas, can I help you find something?” He walked to the store front and grabbed a bag of Kisses.  
  
“Captain Crunch?” he questioned. The girl smiled.  
  
“You’re Samantha’s friend aren’t you? Um....” She tried to think of what Samantha said his name was. “Walter!” she blurted finally. He nodded. “Well, Samantha said you might stop by, so she had me keep this,” she pulled up a plastic bag from the floor. “By the register for you.” Walter walked over and peered inside. A bag of Hershey Kisses and a box of Cap’n Crunch were inside. Walter smirked. “She said all you had to do was pay for it. I’m Lola, by the way.”  
  
Walter glanced at Lola’s face, she was very similar to Samantha in mannerisms and the face. He looked around as something green and gold caught his eye. Walter placed the second bag on Kisses on the counter. “Can you hold on a moment?”  
  
“Of course,” she said, taking the items out of the bag to scan. Walter walked to a display of Christmas stockings. There was only on that was appealing to him as something Samantha would like. It was like the one she’d given him only green with gold and white trimming. He plucked it from the hook and walked back to the register.  
  
“All this...please,” he added, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. Lola smiled at him and rang him up.  
  
“Five seventy-five please.” Lola held out her hand and Walter dropped a ten dollar bill.  
  
“Keep it.” He pushed the change back at her. She smiled and dropped it in the bag with his things. “Thank you, Lola.”  
  
She smiled, “You’re welcome, sir. Have a Merry Christmas.” Walter walked the last eight blocks home and climbed the fire escape to Samantha’s window. He opened it slowly, lifted the plastic bags, and placed them on the floor before creeping inside. He closed the window with a quiet snap and glanced at the clock. Almost one o’clock in the morning and the only light was coming from the Christmas tree. Walter found Samantha asleep on the couch, one arm tucked under her head, the other over her head. He smiled as he walked into the kitchen with the bags in hand.  
  
Walter placed then on the counter before pulling out the box of cereal and a bag of chocolate. He pulled out the stocking as he looked around for where she kept the fruit. A bowl on the table was filled with clementines. He plucked one from the bowl and placed it in the bottom of the stocking. He slid both unopened bags of Kisses in next and grabbed the box of cereal. Walter walked out into the living room and placed the goodies on the coffee table, where Samantha would see them when she woke. He trotted back into the kitchen and grabbed the bag of gifts. He walked silently back to the living room, this time heading for the Christmas tree.  
  
He felt guilty that they weren’t wrapped, but also knew Samantha wouldn’t care. He placed the Eeyore in the back, freeing the tree of many needles as he did. Walter pulled the small bear out first and placed it opposite the donkey, then the big bear. He stared at it a moment, then looked back to Samantha. Walter tucked the bear under his arm and pulled the journals and pens out, scattering them beneath the tree. He tossed the bag into the kitchen and walked back to Samantha, who shifted as he drew closer, knocking hair into her face. Walter placed the bear on the exposed sofa before her chest. Instantly, Samantha drew her left arm down and hugged the bear; covering her face with more of her ginger locks.  
  
Walter bent down and brushed the hair from her face. “Merry Christmas, Samantha,” he whispered.  
  
Samantha nuzzled her head into her pillow and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Walter,” just loud enough to be heard. He smiled as he stood. Walter pulled his coat off and sat down in the arm chair again, covering himself with the jacket and falling into a peaceful sleep.


	21. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1974~

Samantha woke in the morning with a soft moan. Her brow furrowed when she felt something in her arms. She opened her eyes and lifted the bear into the morning light. He was old fashioned and cute. Samantha smiled at him and moved to sit up when she saw the cereal and stocking on the coffee table. She sat up quickly, placing the bear in her lap and picked up the stocking. She pulled out both bags of chocolate and the clementine. She glanced to the armchair and smiled. Walter had fallen asleep in her place, he looked comfortable.  
  
Samantha grabbed everything and walked towards the kitchen when she saw a few extra presents under the tree. Her smile widened. She looked back to Walter. “You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.  
  
Samantha placed her bear on the counter and poured herself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch for breakfast. She held a spoonful out and nodded to the bear. “The breakfast of champions, Walter-bear,” she proudly said before stuffing the spoon in her mouth. She ate quickly, leaving her bowl on the table when she finished. She crossed the living room quietly and went to the bathroom. She hummed “Have a Merry Little Christmas” as she dressed.  
  
Samantha peeked at Walter as she walked back to the kitchen to start cooking. She’d let him sleep a little longer.  
  
\- + -  
  
Walter awoke with a start, at first wondering whose house he’d fallen asleep in, then remembering it was Samantha’s.  
  
“Does this look good, Walter-bear?” her voice rang from the kitchen. Walter rose from the chair, cracking stiff joints as he did. He stretched before walking to the threshold of the kitchen. The bear was sitting on the counter and she had her back turned. Walter staved off the urge to hug her from behind again.  
  
Then suddenly, she began singing, “ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Let your heart be light. From now on, Our troubles will be out of sight. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Make the Yule-tide gay. From now on, Our troubles will be miles away. Here we are as in olden days, Happy golden days of yore. Faithful friends who are dear to us, Gather near to us once more. Through the years, We all will be together, If the Fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now._ ”  
  
“Did you know you have a beautiful voice?” he remarked. Samantha turned to him, smiling.  
  
“Thank you. You know you didn’t hafta get all that chocolate. I had plenty,” she said, placing the plate in her hands on the table, which Walter only just noticed was loaded with food.  
  
“Weren’t kidding when you said you were going to have too much,” he commented.  
  
“I always have too much food. But today, I have somebody to share it with,” she smiled. “Did you wanna go back over to your place, maybe get changed?” Walter looked at his disheveled outfit. He was still wearing last nights clothes.  
  
“I’ll be right back.”  
  
“Okay,” Samantha called as the door opened. She continued cooking, humming random parts of Christmas carols as she went. When she placed two bowls on the table, she looked over her food choices and rattled them off, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Cream of mushroom soup, Caesar salad, cheese and crackers, hamburger quiche, chicken sausage, and plenty of fruit and Kisses. Yep, the gangs all here,” she smiled.  
  
“Sounds like quite a menu,” Walter said, standing in the threshold once more. He watched Samantha look him up and down, taking in his semiformal outfit.  
  
“It usually is. Help yourself. ABC should be starting White Christmas any minute now.” Samantha walked passed Walter and turned the TV on. She returned to find Walter had laden a plate with a little bit of everything She giggled, “You know you can always come back for more, right?”  
  
Walter looked at the hippie and smiled. “I know, but I suddenly find myself very hungry.” He walked by her and sat on the couch, placing his plate on the coffee table. He returned to the kitchen and took the bowl of soup handed to him. “Thank you.” Samantha smiled and filled her own bowl and walked with Walter into the living room. He took the end of the couch furthers from the TV and she took the end closest, but before Samantha sat down, she hurried to the Christmas tree and pulled a large gift from behind the tree.  
  
“You get to open the first gift of the day. I hope you like it.” She handed the gift to Walter, who took it with a ginger touch. “Careful, it’s a little fragile,” she said, sitting next to him. Walter opened the large parcel and found his own face beneath a pane of glass. The more paper he tore, the more sketches he saw. They were all of him as the doomsayer.  
  
“Samantha...,” he started but was finding it hard to string words together. “When did you do this?” he asked when his mouth seemed to work again.  
  
“I’ve been collecting these over the years. This one,” she pointed to a surly looking one in the top right corner. “Was from when I first met you. Having a photographic memory helps.” Samantha’s mismatched eyes wandered the sketches, as if looking at them for the first time. Then she noticed, Walter wasn’t looking at the sketches, he was watching her.  
  
“Everything alright, Walter?” The concern evident in her voice. Walter shook his head, like coming out of a trance.  
  
“Fine. Everything’s fine, thank you, Samantha.” He leaned the picture against the armchair and sat back down.  
  
The announcer on the television said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, in honor of the Christmas holiday, we now present you, White Christmas.”  
  
Samantha clapped. “This is one of my favorites,” she stated as the movie began. Walter was again finding it very difficult to concentrate on the movie or his food. Samantha had obviously seen the film so many times she was miming many of the movements and mouthing most of the worlds, occasionally singing along with some of the songs. She made him smile. Samantha got up to get more food during a commercial break and stopped at the tree on her way back, picking up one of her gifts for Walter.  
  
“Here‘s another one.” She handed him the parcel and sat looking at him. Walter placed the bowl on the table and turned the package over, looking for seems. “You have to rip it, I’m very good at wrapping gifts.” So, Walter tugged at a corner, ripping the funny page wrapping and two brown, leather bound journals fell into his lap. “I know you’re not supposed to get someone something they need, but you do go through a lot of those,” she grinned.  
  
Walter looked them over. These were fair priced journals with excellent bindings and pristine beige pages waiting to be written on. “Thank you, Samantha. I’ve never been good at wrapping gifts, I’m sorry yours are open,” he confessed.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled and turned back to the movie. Walter suddenly realized something. He was truly enjoying the company of a woman for the first time in his life. He then found himself thinking where he’d be if she hadn’t come along.  
  
After another half an hour, the movie was over and Samantha’s smile was broader than ever. It really was one of her favorites. She turned to Walter, “Are you finished with that?” She pointed to his plate and bowl. He nodded and Samantha picked all the dishes from the coffee table.  
  
She stopped at the tree once more and gathered all the gifts from beneath the pine. She set another before Walter and placed the diaries, pens, and Eeyore on her end of the table. She was grinning. “Thank you, Walter. You didn’t have to, but thank you.”  
  
“You didn’t have to either,” he retorted, ripping the packaging open to reveal a set of black, ball-point pens to go with his journals. “Thank you, Samantha.”  
  
“You’re welcome. Do you mind if I do the dishes? They’re piling up in there.”  
  
“Not at all.” Walter placed the pens atop his new journals and watched Samantha, only half listening to the TV. She talked to her Walter-bear a bit and then began humming more Christmas carols. Walter stood when she was almost finished and walked up behind her, hugging her around the middle again.  
  
“Walter...?”  
  
“Fine like this.” He listened to her heartbeat again, it was much calmer this time around. Samantha rinsed and dried her hands before placing them on Walter’s. She began to sway in rhythm and soon began singing again.  
  
“ _I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, Just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten, And children listen, to hear sleigh bells in the snow. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, With every Christmas card I write. May your days be merry and bright, And may all your Christmases be white._ ” Walter squeezed Samantha around the middle when she finished. For a moment he felt like crying, but collected himself quickly.  
  
“You okay, Walter?” she questioned, her voice just as motherly as usual.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“May I?” Samantha began to turn in his arms and Walter released his hold to allow the movement. She leaned against the counter and looked at him, his hands still around her waist. “You’ll be going out soon?”  
  
“What time is it?” He looked for the clock.  
  
“It’s five, dark enough to lure those that want to hurt people out...even on Christmas.”  
  
“Soon,” he resigned. He didn’t really want to leave, but the Christmas holiday, while festive, was usually very busy. He looked up in shock as Samantha ran her hands up his arms and rested them on his shoulders.  
  
“You’ll be careful?” she asked, leaning forward a little and tilting her head to one side.  
  
“I’ll try,” he said, inclining his head. He watched as her eyes; once again, searched his face for permission. Walter was still unsure. “I’ve never...,” he started.  
  
“I’ll be gentle,” she smiled, inching her lips closer to his. Their breath mingled and when Walter didn’t pull back, Samantha cupped his face and finally brought their lips together. She was as gentle as she could be, she didn’t want to send him running again. Samantha suddenly pulled back when she felt his hands running up her back.  
  
“Wrong?” Walter asked, an unsure look on his face.  
  
“No,” she smiled shyly. “Just unexpected.” She pressed her lips to his again, harder this time and was surprised that Walter was kissing her just as hard back. She grinned against his lips. She’d wanted this for so long and it was no disappointment. She pulled back for a breath and whispered, “I love you, Walter.” She wanted with all of her being for him to say it back to her, but his answer made the smile fade from her lips.  
  
Walter pulled away, letting his arms fall to his side. Samantha clasped her hands together, hanging her head like a child that had broken a vase. “I...,” he started, want to say he loved her back, but he couldn’t. “Thank you for the meal. I have to go.” He turned away, unable to see her face. Walter grabbed his gifts and made for the door. He opened it and stopped.  
  
“Merry...merry Christmas, Samantha,” he chocked out before pulling the door shut behind him. Samantha ran to the door, yanking it open when she reached the handle.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Walter,” she chocked over the lump in her throat. Despite leaving so quickly, he had really given Samantha the best gift.


	22. A Single Night of Blood and Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
>  I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1975~

“Where is the girl?” Rorschach growled as the arm in his hands broke.  
  
“AHHH! Okay, okay. Brooklyn. Dress maker factory.” The man reached for his shoulder, but Rorschach refused to let the man go until he told him everything. “His name’s Gerald Grice, been comin’ t’ the bar down the street most nights talkin’ ‘bout some littl’ girl. Might be the one you’re lookin’ fer I don’ know!” the man screamed.  
  
Rorschach was satisfied with the information and released the broken arm from his grip. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away from the informant crying like a baby. Fourteen people in the hospital and only the fifteenth gives him any information. He must be loosing his touch. Rorschach walked passed the bar the man had mentioned, pausing in thought. Maybe he should go inside and demand for the man? But thought better of it. Blair Roche had already been missing for several days and no one knew if she was alive or not.  
  
The hot mid August heat had always made people crazy, but this summer had been especially nuts. Rorschach walked on for several more blocks when he heard dogs in a backyard. He peered through a broken slat in the fencing and saw two unruly German Sheppards fighting over a bone. They weren’t paying any attention to him, but he wouldn’t be using the back entrance just the same. Rorschach walked to the front door and kicked it open.  
  
He entered the factory and closed the door behind him. Limbless torsos littered the floor and were lined against the walls. Rorschach opened the first door he came upon. Inside was a small wood stove. Fresh soot caked the cast iron, a container filled to the brim with kerosene sitting just to his left. Rorschach opened the grate and felt inside, trying to find anything. What he pulled out made him go white under his mask. A pair of partially burned six year-olds panties. He pocketed them and left the room quickly.  
  
The next room he entered was much like a kitchen. A large cutting board; with a meat cleaver embedded in it, lay on the counter but Rorschach was more interested in the cabinet. He opened the small doors to find an array of carving knives and a hacksaw waiting for their owner. Rorschach ran his fingers along several of the blades before casting his eyes down to the cutting board. He ran a finger along the surface. It was wet and smelled rotten. Outside, the Sheppards yipped, whined, and growled as they continued to fight over a bone that had no meat. Rorschach walked to the window and looked out. Several other bones littered the yard but they were...too big, too long to be from any animal. Then he saw one with the shoe still attached.  
  
Rorschach’s eyes widened with realization. He had fed Blair to his dogs. He went back to the cutting board and ripped the cleaver from the wood. As calmly as he could make himself, Rorschach walked out into the back yard. Both dogs looked at him, waiting to be fed. With a swift THUNK, Rorschach cleaved one dogs head in two. The other dog growled, but had its tail between its legs. Rorschach raised the cleaver once more and with another THUNK, killed the second dog. Now all he had to do, was wait for the master.  
  
\- + -  
  
Around ten forty-five noise beyond the fence made Rorschach look up.  
  
“Hello, Fred? Barney? I’m home. C’mon...who’s got a bark for daddy?” an unfamiliar male voice shouted over the fence. Rorschach made no sound. After a few quiet minutes the man moved on with a grunt. He listened with all his might, waiting for the man to enter the premises. Rorschach heaved one dog onto his shoulders, crouched beneath a window, and waited. When it sounded like the man was in the hall, Rorschach pitched the dog through the window.  
  
“Oh god!” Gerald shouted. Rorschach heaved the other dog onto his shoulders and waited for the man to enter the kitchen. When he was sure the man was somewhere in the middle of the room, he pitched the second dog through the window.  
  
“AHHH! Get off me! Get it offa me!” He tried pushing the dog off his back but couldn’t shift its weight. Rorschach stepped through the window and stood over the man. He was pudgy and drunk. The man failed to fight Rorschach off as the vigilante reached down and dragged the man from the kitchen, passed the first dog, and into the room with the stove. Rorschach pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped one around a fat wrist and the other around the leg of the stove.  
  
“What the hell are you doin’ man!?” He tugged at his wrist. “You can’t do this, why are you here, man!?” he shouted. Rorschach pulled a snapshot of Blair Roche from his pocket and flung it at the piece of meat at his feet. “You think I had something to do with that little girl?” Next Rorschach pulled the underwear from his pocket. The man saw them and went white. Rorschach threw them at him as well. “That ain’t evidence o’ anythin’,” Gerald stated, but the shifted of the mask made him nervous.  
  
“Would you say something!?” he shouted. Rorschach turned away a moment and then back, like he was having an argument with someone. Gerald saw a flash of silver and began to blubber. “Alright, I did it! But you’ve gotta take me in! I need help! Hey, man, don’t!” he shouted when Rorschach began to raise the cleaver, but he lowered it a little. The dogs had been easy enough to kill and that’s all this man was. Rorschach felt the snake rumble in his gut, aching for release. He couldn’t hear the mans incoherent babble out being sick and needing help over the snake.  
  
The snake was hissing that things needed to change, that he needed to change and if Walter wasn’t willing to do it, the snake would. Walter yielded. After so long trapped in the box, the snake hissed and erupted from it’s box, swallowing Walter whole. Rorschach swung the butcher’s knife and stopped the man mid-plea. “Men, go to prison. Dogs get put down!” He ripped the cleaver from the man skull; foreign blood splashed his face and clothes like hot water. Rorschach raised the cleaver and brought it down again and again and again, until there was almost nothing left of the head. Finally, Rorschach released the cleaver and picked up the container of kerosene and began to pour it around the room, making sure to soak Gerald’s corpse. He lit a match and walked casually from the factory. It went up quickly and the smoke was heavy with the fat of the dog. He watched for an hour before hearing the shouts of a woman being raped. He walked down the block and found a small unit of Knot-Tops gang rapping three women. These ones would be going to the hospital in body bags.  
  
\- + -  
  
“Hey, Lowell!” Samantha called over the din. The older man turned and waved. The hippie beckoned him to her urgently. Lowell placed the box of creamed corn on the floor and walked gingerly to the girl. “Have you seen, Walter? It’s been nine days, I can’t find him.” Her voice was on the verge of panic and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.  
  
“Walter...?” he questioned. Lowell didn’t know many of Samantha’s friends, unless they worked in his market.  
  
“Oh, the, um...the doomsayer. Walks with a sign that says ‘The End Is Nigh’. Ginger hair, freckles, shorter than me.” Her voice squeaked.  
  
“You mean him?” Lowell pointed outside. The doomsayer was walking passed the storefront.  
  
“Thank you.” she sighed. Samantha left and ran after her neighbor. “Walter! Walter! Hey, will you stop a second!” she shouted, laying a hand on Walter’s shoulder and making him turn around. His face was blank but his eyes glared dangerously at her. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”  
  
“Stop wasting time.” Walter turned and continued walking, making a turn at the closest alley. Samantha tried to keep up, but got caught in a throw of tourists. When she finally broke free of the tourists, she turned down the same alley but didn’t see her query. She looked back out to the street, but his sign wasn’t visible above the crowd. Samantha jogged down the alley and made the first turn she could. Walter caught her arm, twisted it behind her back, and pinned her to the wall.  
  
“Said, stop wasting time. Yours and mine. I’m tired of this. Your siren ways no longer work on me,” he threatened.  
  
“Walter, ah! What happened!?” she shouted.  
  
“Change happened, Miss Haley. Leave it at that.” Walter contemplated breaking her arm, but released her. He picked up his sign and made to leave. Samantha pushed away from the brick; massaging her shoulder, and followed.  
  
“Walt-AHHH!” Walter wheeled around and grabbed the hippie by the throat.  
  
“Do not make me tell you to leave me alone again, Miss Haley. Believe me. It will not be as kind as this,” he sneered. Samantha’s eyes welled with tears and she nodded; as best she could in his grip. Walter released his hold and Samantha crumbled to the ground. She held her throat and watched her neighbor stalk off. His demeanor changing when he reached the street. He slouched a little, replaced the sign to his shoulder, and walked out with a blank face again.  
  
Tears streamed down Samantha’s cheeks and her breath hitched in her chest. He...he wasn’t Walter anymore. He was Rorschach through and through.


	23. One Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watchmen created by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins.  
> I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.  
> Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
> 
> ~1975~

Samantha tapped her pen against the lined paper of her journal. She was trying to think of what to write, she’d been avoiding the topic plaguing her mind and her life the past couple of months. She gave an exasperated sigh as she properly placed the pen to the smooth paper.  
  
 _October the thirty-first, nineteen seventy-five  
  
I know I never start journals with the date but...tonight is...different.... So very different. I haven’t talked to Walter in...weeks. So many...long weeks. He leaves even more quietly than I can hear and doesn’t even use his front door anymore. The death of little Blair Roche hit him hard. Rorschach is who he really is now...Walter Kovacs is just a “homeless bum” he can impersonate so he can stalk the scum of New York in their own backyard...like one of them....  
  
...I’ve lost him. Anything I had done over these past ten...no, eleven years was squashed in a single night of blood and flame. I see him when I work and he doesn’t seem to notice me anymore. And when I do see him...he calls me “Miss Haley”...and that’s when he does talk to me. It’s just like at the beginning. Only this time he...can’t and won’t allow me in._  
  
Samantha’s pen paused above the next line. It began to shake as silent sobs began to wrack her body. Tears smeared her inked words. Samantha dropped her pen and hugged herself until she stopped crying. She gave a weak, shuddering sigh as she checked the clock.  
  
“Shit. I forgot about the trick-or-treaters.” She picked up her pen and jotted, _I’ll be right back, gotta get candy for the littlons. - Samantha *sad face*_  
  
Samantha threw on her knitted jacket and grabbed her purse before jogging out the door. She feigned happiness as she smiled at parents and their children dressed in their costumes. She pushed her way into Lowell’s Market. She giggled at the cashiers wearing masks to creep out their patrons.  
  
“Samantha Haley, been a while since I’ve seen you, girl. How you been?” Lowell asked as she checked out with one bag of Kit-Kat bars.  
  
“I’ve been well enough. I can’t say I’ve been perfect, though. I spaced that it was Halloween,” she said as she handed him her cash.  
  
“Spaced? I thought you were a clean hippie...mostly.”  
  
“I don’t get high, Lowell. I’ve just been...thinking a lot, that’s all. My days have been blurring together with a mass of over thought and little sleep. I just can’t get my mind off this one topic...,” Samantha sighed as tears tried to well in her mismatched eyes. Lowell put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
“You’ll make it through, kiddo. I know you will.” He smiled from beneath his Mardi Gras mask. Samantha smiled back, taking her bag of chocolate from his hand.  
  
“Thanks, dude. Have fun tonight.” Samantha waved as she left.  
  
“You too, girl.”  
  
Samantha swung the bag as she walked to eight blocks back to her apartment building. The crowd started to thin around block three and was almost non-existent when she turned the corner at block five. The only people she saw on the street so far was a couple against the building just down the road. When the girl shouted, Samantha jogged toward them.  
  
“Hey! Leave her alone!” The boy turned to see the ginger hippie coming his way.  
  
“I ain’t doin’ nuthin’, lady.” He held his hands up defensively. Samantha got closer and noticed he had nothing in his hands, nor did the girl. “She’s my girlfriend.” He put his right arm around her waist.  
  
“Oh god, sorry. I heard her shout...I thought. It is New York after all,” she giggled.  
  
“Yah, it is,” the girl said, pulling a butterfly knife from the belt of her skirt. She pointed it at Samantha; who stopped smiling. “The candy, now,” the girl demanded, nodding her head to the plastic bag. Samantha glanced at the boy; who looked frightened.  
  
“The bag, lady,” the teen shouted. Samantha lunged at the thieving youth and struggled for the knife. The boy stood afar, not wanting to interfere. Suddenly, Samantha dropped her bag of candy and the girl backed away, blood on her hand. She snagged the bag from the ground and her boyfriend as the hippie fell against the building, the butterfly knife in her gut.  
  
She stared at the silver and black hilt jutting from her knitted jacket. If she pulled the knife out now, she’d bleed to death in minutes. Samantha rested her head against the wall and tried to push herself up; using the wall as leverage. She placed her right hand over the wound as much as she could. Samantha drew in a shuddering gasp as she felt blood trickle down her leg.  
  
“Shit,” she cursed. Samantha looked around, no one else was on the street. She glanced to the left, “Three blocks from home. Three fucking blocks.” Her mind began to drift in mild drowsiness. She needed to see him...one last time. Samantha struggled to walk but began to make her way the last few blocks.  
  
She came to a stop at the alley way between her building and the one she was leaning against. Samantha wiped the sweat from her forehead and heaved a great cough; leaving the rusty taste of blood in her mouth. She spit the blood to the ground and made to reach for her purse.  
  
“Fuck...me.” Samantha didn’t like how weak her voice sounded nor how weak her knees felt. They shook beneath her; they wouldn’t hold her up much longer. She glanced back the way she had come. Her purse...her keys; to the lock she’d ordered Mrs. Shairp to install, were three blocks away. Samantha shook her head as her eyes tried to close.  
  
“No,” she whispered. “Gotta stay awake. Gotta...gotta see him again.” She lumbered around piles of trash to the fire escape ladder. She glared up, seven stories was a long way up for a woman with a belly wound, but Samantha would try to make it just the same.  
  
Samantha reached up to the bottom rung with both hands, stretching the wound a little. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pulled down, but the ladder was rusty and wouldn’t budge an inch. She grunted as she began to pull herself up. Samantha suddenly felt the weight of her limp legs as they left the dirty ground. She climbed five rungs before she met with disaster. As she reached for the sixth, the hilt of the knife caught and was tugged free from her flesh.  
  
“AH!” Samantha pressed her right hand into her belly as the thick, warm liquid seeped between her fingers. “Shit,” she whispered as her whole body was being held up by her one hand. She released the rusty rung and her body fell the few feet and hit the pavement with a cushioned THUMP. She quietly cried out in pain. Samantha rolled from the trash pile onto her back and pressed both hands on her badly bleeding belly. Her eyes tried to close but she rattled her head to keep from the throws of unconsciousness. She rubbed sweat from her forehead with her bloody left hand and peered at it.  
  
Her hand fell to her side and Samantha’s watering, unfocused eyes spied a lone star in the cloud filled night. “Starlight, star bright, the first star Iahhh...see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish toahhh!” She gritted her teeth as the pain reached a crescendo. “Have the wish I wish tonight,” she sighed. Samantha could feel her brain becoming sluggish as her life leaked from her body. “I want...I wish,” a lump formed in her throat as the words floated disjointed in her mind. “I wish...that I could see him again.... Just one last time,” she sobbed. Samantha stared at the star as wind moved the clouds to cover it.  
  
Samantha’s eyelids felt too heavy to keep open and she succumbed to their call to close. Her consciousness began to drift, her breathing became raspy, her pulse began to slow, and her hand no longer kept the appropriate pressure to keep her blood from spilling out onto the alley floor. More blood slowly stained the asphalt and trash surrounding the artists body.  
  
“...Walter....” The word slipped from her lips, just loud enough that she could hear it. His shifting face filled her thoughts and she smiled a little. Samantha never heard the heated footsteps at the alley entrance.  
  
“Rorschach, the blood leads back here!” Nite Owl called. The vigilante stopped short when he saw the mass of ginger hair.  
  
“...Samantha...?” he said, barely loud enough to be heard by his partner.  
  
“I’m gonna get my kit.” Nite Owl trotted away while Rorschach jogged forward. His eyes traveled her body, observing her; too pale skin, bloodied hands, and a knife wound in her gut. The vigilante knelt next to his neighbor. He lifted her almost limp torso onto his knees.  
  
Samantha’s eyes fluttered open at the sudden movement. She turned her head and coughed blood onto Rorschach’s trench coat. She smiled a bloody smile when her eyes caught his shifting face.  
  
“My...wish came true,” she said weakly. She gave another cough and looked at her neighbor with a sad seriousness. “I love you, Walter. I always have. I know...know that you can’t...say the same. I just....” Samantha’s eyes rolled back as death tried to take hold. She shook her head and her jade half-blind eyes snapped back, focusing on him. “It’s all yours...remember that,” she cried.  
  
Samantha cupped Rorschach’s face with her bloodied hands and painfully pulled herself up to him. Her stained lips pressed into his face; where his would be, just long enough to leave their mark. He could feel her shaky breath through his face  and was shocked when her body went limp and fell back into his lap. He stared at her face, eyes closed with a light smile played on her pale lips.  
  
Beneath his face, a single tear streaked down Rorschach’s cheek. Samantha Haley; the only woman he had ever loved, was lying dead in his arms.  
  
THE END


End file.
